


Penumbra

by treenahasthaal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Gen, brief descriptions of implied torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 23:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treenahasthaal/pseuds/treenahasthaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The shadows," he told himself, whispering madly. "Hide in the shadows."</p><p> How does Luke Skywalker fulfill his destiny after Darth Vader is successful in freezing him in carbonite?</p><p> <br/>A ten part AU written between the late 1980s to the early 00's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Penumbra

**Author's Note:**

> These stories were written many years ago (between the late 80s and the early 00s). All, apart from the epilogue, were written BEFORE The Phantom Menace, which means that the stories are based on what we knew from the Original Trilogy movies and novels. The stories were included in issues of the Fanzine "A Tremor In The Force" and collected together in the Fanzine "Millennium."
> 
> Each chapter is a short story, a snap shot of a scene (some shorter than others) based in this alternative universe and together tell a story...
> 
> Star Wars is copyrighted to Lucasfilm and Disney. I just play with the characters and situations for fun.

Previously Published In "A Tremor In The Force" 5, 1990

 

Penumbra

 

                                                                                                               

 

            Confusion, borne from misunderstood pain lanced through him. He screamed within his terror, calling out desperately for someone to help him, someone to explain this sudden horror into which he had been so casually thrust. But he heard nothing, could sense no one beyond himself. He turned, twisting, lapsing back, reaching inward to find the strength he required to fight this unknown.

 

                He stopped, hesitated, staring in disbelief at the scene which unfolded before him. There was a child - no, an infant - lying curled upon the ground. Its tiny body trembled with the powerful sobs which tore through it. Its cries reached his ears, its fear touched his own. He looked up as two shadows crossed the infant's back and blew cool air over his face. A cry tore from his throat as the dark carrion birds circled lower, waiting for the submission, the death.

 

                He reached down to the child, wanting to take it up and carry it to safety. Another's hand reached for him. He pulled back from his reflection, staring at the dark, glassy pool as the child's face became his own. He stepped back and fell to the dirt. The birds swooped lower, their cries sending shocks of dread through him. He pulled himself up. It was he! It was _he_ the birds sought! He was their prey, their feed. He climbed to his feet, turned and ran. Ran as the birds followed. Ran to the dark before him, seeing safety within its folds.

 

                _The shadows,_ he told himself, whispering madly. _Hide in the shadows._

 

                He slowed as he tired, walking, fighting his way forward as though moving through water or setting gelatine. His chest burned as he laboured to draw breath.

 

                _The shadows._

 

                The edge of the darkness reached out, its wispy fingers coiling around his body, drawing him in, drawing him down.

 

                It was the piercing cry of the smaller bird which drew his attention to his mistake. Frantically, he looked to the light from which he had been chased. It beckoned him, teasing him with pleasures lost. It threw the faces of those he loved before his eyes, their voices crying his name, their eyes filling with sorrow at his passing. His dreams shattered and splintered as the birds settled at the shadows edge, blocking his path back.

 

                _Stay and be safe,_ the night whispers softly offered him. _Stay and find strength._

 

                The darkness revealed other images; his friends racked with pain as he stood by; the galaxy shuddered and broke as his power grew, as it tore free from his fragile control. Faces turned to him full of fear and awe. The malignancy crept closer, the birds edged nearer, sensing his defeat.

 

                He screamed with frustration and horror as realisation struck. He threw his arms to the light as he sank...

 

                He fell, tumbling down, and struck the smooth coolness of a polished floor. He lay curled, cowering from the darkness and the birds which settled around him, recoiled from the rustle and touch of their feathers.

 

                He shivered as cold air blew lightly around him, lifting heat from his damp body. He fought to draw a breath and coughed, tearing his aching lungs, his raw throat. His limbs spasmed painfully as he tried to push himself to his knees and he buckled and fell as they failed him. There was a voice, its words muffled and indistinct, its meaning lost to squawking laughter.

 

                Hands took him by the arms, lifting him to his feet. He hung, helpless in their grip, listening to rasping breath. He opened his eyes, battling to focus on his surroundings, but sheer darkness remained. He winced as a claw touched his cheek, scraping sensitive skin, flinched as it lifted his chin, turning his head. This time the voice was clear, the meaning terrifying and crystalline.

 

                "You were correct, Lord Vader. He _is_ just a boy. Perhaps my fears were unfounded."

 

                And he knew who held him, he knew where he was. Images of the past flowed painfully to mind. The sabre duel in the dim light of the carbon freezing chamber, the Dark Lord pressing forward, pushing him back, causing footing to be lost. He remembered the fall into the pit, remembered the pain and the moment when his scream of comprehension was cruelly cut before it escaped his lungs.

 

                He hung limply in Vader's grasp, defeated and lost. He felt himself open, felt them feed.

 

                _Ben, I'm sorry..._

               

 


	2. Gathering Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ending? thought Leia Organa, as she lifted a hand and gently pushed away the annoying strands of hair which fell over her eyes. Is that what this was? An ending?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not pretend to lay claim to any Star Wars copyright. That rests solely with Lucasfilm and Disney. I just play around with the characters and my only profit is fun!

Previously Published in "A Tremor In The Force" No. 7, 1993

 

Penumbra - Part 2

 

**Gathering Shadows**

 

                                                                                               

 

            It had all tumbled from her grasp. Everything she believed in, everything she had fought for, everything she had gained in the last few years had simply slipped away. Instead of friendship, there was only loss; instead of love, there was only grief; instead of hope, there was only hopelessness. What had they done wrong, what actions could they have taken to turn events around, to twist them into an alternative ending?

 

                _Ending?_ thought Leia Organa, as she lifted a hand and gently pushed away the annoying strands of hair which fell over her eyes. _Is that what this was? An ending?_

 

                She drew in a breath and turned her eyes to the stars beyond the view port, to the darting x-wings as they patrolled the Alliance fleet massing above Sullust. It was difficult to accept that this was more than just a bad dream. A distressing nightmare can be dismissed and forgotten, but reality cannot be treated in such an off-hand manner. The Rebellion would continue, but they had lost so much. Hoth Base had fallen, taking so many lives with it, its personnel scattered throughout the galaxy, limping to this rendezvous point. Each new ship which reached them told of more losses.

 

                The Millennium Falcon had been no different. Han was gone. Luke was gone. Luke was...

 

                _Dead,_ her mind told her. A humiliating and public execution. He had looked bruised and beaten, both in body and spirit, his Alliance uniform filthy and torn. He had looked drugged and dazed as he was dragged before the Imperial Palace gates and shot.

 

                _...gathered here to witness the execution of the notorious rebel terrorist. His crimes, as well as high treason, also include the murder of  civilians, the destruction of Imperial property, and espionage. It is the Emperor's wish that those who would follow his example take heed of his death, for this will be the fate of all who dare betray His Majesty..._

 

                The cool, calm voice of the holovid commentator echoed at her, teasing her mind with Luke's final moments and she closed her eyes as the tears grew and spilled.

 

                "I'm so sorry, Luke," she whispered huskily to the stars, to her friend who was only days dead, hoping somehow he would understand, hoping somehow he had found peace despite his violent end. "I'm so sorry."

 

                They should have gone back. After Lando had freed them, they should have gone back. When she had seen that Han was beyond her...

 

                _Han..._

 

                ...they should have gone back for Luke, returned to the carbon freezing chamber and...  What? What could they have done with Vader and his troops there? How could she have turned Luke away from facing his father's murderer? He was so determined that was his destiny, so convinced the confrontation was his goal. She smiled sadly as she recalled his fierce anger as he told her about his family, and about Vader and the deaths he caused. She could understand his passion, for she shared it with the deaths of her own family. Now, Vader had torn more loved ones from her.

 

                Yes, she had shared Luke's passion and determination. She had drawn strength from his wild enthusiasm for life and learning. When he had opened the door to her prison on the Death Star and breathlessly announced his identity and purpose, she had been drawn to the light within him, for he had banished the shadows of despair which had been threatening her, and given her renewed hope. That hope had prevailed until he died, and now the shadows had begun to gather once more.

 

                And Han. Snatched from her just as she had realised her love for him, the love she had tried to deny, the love she had fought in case it interrupted her duty as princess. She had been a fool, an arrogant, self-centred fool!

 

                _How many times did you use those words for Han?_ her mind mocked. _How many times did you rebuke him?_

 

                Han had known. Han had been able to see through her. Han had watched her love grow, had teased her with it, had used it to infuriate her, exasperate her, had used it in an attempt to get her to admit it. But it had taken Vader to make her do that; it had taken Han's loss to make her do that.

 

                "Princess?"

 

                Leia startled at the soft voice. She wiped quickly at her face and turned around to find Lando Calrissian and Chewbacca standing in the open doorway. She pushed away the anger which quickly rose within her...

 

                _Because of you, Calrissian. Luke and Han are gone, because of you._

 

                "I'm sorry, Chewie, Lando. I didn't hear you." Leia spoke calmly and stood to greet them. Lando had been placed in an awkward situation. He had been used by Vader, forced to betray his friend in exchange for his people and his city. Ultimately, he had lost them all.

 

                The gambler cleared his throat before continuing, finding the words difficult to say. He was beginning to feel stifled on the Alliance ship. The stunned atmosphere among the Rebels on the cruiser, due to the death of the youth he had helped Vader lure to Cloud City, was hard to bear. It accentuated the guilt he felt at being part of the whole lousy affair. "Ah, Chewie and I...well... The falcon's repaired and kitted out and we've got clearance to leave."

 

                "Yes, of course," Leia heard herself answer, feeling her loneliness deepen. Chewbacca was leaving, jetting off with Calrissian to search for Boba Fett, to find Han, but he was leaving her. She glanced at the Wookiee and saw her sorrow mirrored in his large blue eyes.

 

                They embraced, Chewbacca stooping low to wrap his arms around her slight body. He woofed softly, petting her hair as he comforted her, assuring her he would be back.

 

                "I know, Chewie," Leia told him, not understanding his words, only their feelings. "I know."

 

                "We'll find Han, Your Highness," Lando told her, sounding sure.

 

                The princess merely nodded. She would believe him when Han held her once more, when Han delivered that silly lop-sided grin of his in her direction.

 

                Lando hesitated, wondering briefly if he should mention Skywalker, but he only returned Leia's nod. "Okay..." he breathed to himself and turned on his heels. After another embrace from the princess, Chewbacca followed him.

 

                Leia returned to her seat by the window as an x-wing rocketed past. Its markings were those of Rogue Flight - soon to be Red Flight once more - Luke's command. No, she corrected herself, it was Wedge Antilles' command.  It was many minutes before the Millennium Falcon emerged from the docking bays several decks below her cabin. She watched as the freighter banked away from the cruiser, heading for open space. It was strange to think that the Falcon was leaving without her captain. If Luke were here he'd probably mumble something about the Force and...

 

                She shuddered, the ripple moving swiftly through her muscles, and she suddenly chilled. Luke!  She's been thinking of him casually, as though he were merely away on some mission and not dead. It was a thought which had risen within many times during the last few days. It was a common pursuit for those who grieved, especially when a sudden death was involved. It was a mistake, he's not really dead, that battered figure on the holovid wasn't Luke, that wasn't really Alderaan Tarkin destroyed...

 

                A pointless, though disturbing consideration. Luke's not dead...

 

                Her eyes followed the _Falcon's_ path, watched as the freighter abruptly shot forward and was lost to hyperspace. For a few moments, Leia's gaze remained fixed on the area of space into which the ship had disappeared, her silent wishes following its after-burn.  Then she shook herself and rose, closing down the window cover, shutting out the galaxy and pushing Han and Luke as far back into her thoughts as she could. There would be time to remember them again after the emergency council meeting, after her duties for the day had been performed.

 

                The door to her quarters slid silently closed behind her and, like a trailing phantom, two words quietly whispered on the fringe of her consciousness.

 

                _not dead..._


	3. Turning Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, in ice, a child had perished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not pretend to lay claim to any Star Wars copyright. That rests solely with Lucasfilm and Disney. I just play around with the characters and my only profit is fun!

Previously Published in "A Tremor In The Force" 7, 1993.

 

 

Turning Point

 

 

            He let out a breath and watched it steam and billow in the frigid air before it dispersed and disappeared. He drew in another, feeling the chill seep into his body, feeling it rake the delicate lining of his lungs like taloned fingers. He welcomed the coldness, for it calmed the heat which burned within him, it extinguished the flames of his hate and anger. Some might find it strange that one who had spent his youth on a baking planet of sand should find peace and solace in such a winter landscape, but it reminded him of the folly of impulsiveness. Ice was the punishment he met for rushing off headlong into the baited trap of Bespin.

 

                And, in ice, a child had perished.

 

                Events from those long ago months were still vague, a nightmarish blend of disturbing images and sounds, of wrenching terror and tearing pain; the death throes of the person he once was. His captors had fed well, gorging themselves on his twisting confused emotions, his fear and despair. Then, at his lowest ebb, they had snatched away his only hope, prised from his grasp the only thing he held close and cherished.

 

                _"You are my son!"_

 

                The truth of those words had struck him deeply and he had finally sunk and submitted. They had plotted carefully for this moment, had orchestrated an elaborate plan: they had him taken to the palace gates and, before a baying crowd and holovid cameras, they had him executed, effectively ending his life for both himself and for the galaxy.

 

                The slate had been cleaned for him to assume a new persona.

 

                He shivered in the freezing winds, watching as they swept plumes of snow from the peaks of the mountains around him. The sun was high, glistening sharply upon the brilliant white ice. He smiled a little ruefully, sorrowfully at the irony; he was surrounded by light, a pure penetrating brightness and it could not touch him, could not seep beneath the black costume he wore.

 

                He had woken in the Medcentre, in a comfortable bed and, as he blinked in the clinical light, a voice had questioned carefully, "How are you feeling, M'Lord."

 

                Luke Skywalker had perished and Sohn, The Younger Lord Vader, had wakened in that bed.

 

                His training began soon after, his father and the Emperor pushing him to the limits of his physical and spiritual endurance, teaching him of the weakness of light and the strength of night, teaching him of power. They were always there, never giving him a moment to himself, invading his very dreams with their whispered warnings and promises, searching for glimpses of doubts and disobedience, and punishing swiftly when they found such thoughts.

 

                Sohn was a quick study. He learned to stifle his past loves and desires, he learned the pride of achievement as he reached the goals his masters set for him, he learned of the power he held over weaker beings, he learned all they had to teach him. His power grew and his masters laughed with delight because they knew that his strength came from his hatred of them, his fear of them, his abhorrence of the same darkness he found himself embracing.

 

                There was a turning point, an event locked in time, that Sohn would always recall. He had killed a man. It had been a mindless moment, a second or two of blazing fury as his fragile control over the Force disintegrated.

 

                He had returned to his quarters after a difficult session with his father and the Emperor. He was irate, sweating, trembling with fury and exertion, and the soldier had simply entered the room at the wrong time and made one demand too many on top of his masters'.

 

                _"M,Lord, the tailors wish you to try..."_

_He turned swiftly, anger at the interruption erupting into a cry of rage. He threw out his arm, twisting his wrist and closing his fist, and the soldier was sent crashing against the wall, his innards crushed._

_Vader was there within moments and Sohn turned, with growing horror, toward his father. He was stunned by his actions, sickened by his abilities. Glancing up at his father, he stammered out his only excuse. "He... annoyed me."_

_Darth Vader looked down at the broken body, then shifted his gaze to his son. After a long pause, he merely nodded an acknowledgement at Sohn's words, then he turned and left._

 

                A turning point, but in which direction?

 

                Gradually, Palpatine and his father slackened their hold, gave him more freedom of movement, retreated from his mind and allowed private thoughts once more - though Sohn knew they could, and would, invade his mind at any time. This very threat was their deterrent, their control of him. Then, they had completed the transformation and had commanded he wear this costume.

 

                It was a black dress Imperial uniform complete with a floor length cape. Like his father, he also wore a helmet and mask. The helmet covered his entire head, but the mask concealed only part of his face, leaving his chin and mouth exposed. The purpose of this disguise, unlike the elder Vader's, was not that of life support. It was merely there to hide his features, to further smother the man he had been.

 

                _"Imagine the Rebel Alliance finding out little Luke Skywalker was their new antagonist," the Emperor cackled._

 

                "My Lord Vader," his aide called from the hatch of the shuttle behind him. "The destroyer will be waiting for you."

 

                _Let them wait,_ Sohn thought bitterly, as he gazed across the snow drifts, his cape fluttering behind him. This place was so much like Hoth, it reminded him of other times, of that other person, of an innocent and shallow youth, of dreams which had long since splintered. It reminded him of friendship and love, of companionship and camaraderie, of Han and Leia.

 

                _Lost._

 

                "I'm sorry," he hoarsely whispered to the growing gale, his voice scrapping through scarred vocal cords damaged by the carbon freezing, unsure to whom he was apologising. To Ben and Yoda? To Han and Leia? To himself?

 

                This was the price of impulsiveness, of recklessness, of anger, and he had learned a terrible lesson. He would not be so impetuous again. He would learn the virtues of patience, he would gain their trust, and he would achieve his destiny through careful treading. He fingered the lightsaber hanging from his belt clip and smiled.

 

                The smile faltered for a moment as he quickly sought in which directions his masters were focused, and it grew again when he discovered them turned from him. Abruptly, he spun of his heel and strode up the shuttle's ramp, closing off his thoughts, guarding them jealously from possible prying. The hatch closed behind him and the craft lifted from the northern wasteland and rose through the atmosphere toward his new command on board his father's vessel, carrying him back to the stars.


	4. Seek, and Ye Shall Find

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today had been for Luke. Tomorrow was for Han.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that this story was written before the prequels, therefore it will not tie in with events in those movies.
> 
> As always Star Wars copy right belongs to Lucasfilm and Disney. I only enjoy playing with the characters and my only profit is fun.

 

 Previously published in "A Tremor in the Force 8", 1994

 

**Seek, and Ye Shall Find**

                                                                                               

 

            It was warm. A comfortable liquid warmth which cradled her body within its fluid folds, which muffled and filtered the sounds for her sensitive ears. There was a steady, thrumming beat, muted murmurs and comforting words and, occasionally, the sound she sought most, the sound which years later she would recall only in forgotten dreams: the sound of her mother's laughter.

 

                She opened her eyes as another's skin lightly brushed against her arm and saw only darkness: a pleasant, familiar friend who, together with the warmth, created her environment. She closed her eyes once more, curled tighter to herself and placed her thumb in her mouth.

 

                Again there was movement beside her and she was pulled from drifting slumber as her neighbour squirmed and kicked, upsetting her cosy crib. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again and watched as the darkness faded and light appeared. A dazzling, painful light which pierced her pupils with its brilliant sharpness.

 

                _This is light,_ the whisper told her. _This is pain._

 

                She back away, hands out before her as she tried to block the glare, but her foot caught on rough ground and she fell and buried her face in the dirt. Then there were more sounds, the squawking calls of carrion birds that echoed above her. She twisted around and watched in horror as two black feathered creatures winged from the flames of the light and swooped down toward her.

 

                Screaming, she scrambled to her feet and ran. Ran to the darkness that re-emerged before her. There she would comfort, there she would find security, there she would be safe once more, there...

 

                And Leia Organa opened her eyes to the dim light of the cabin, a hitch of breath caught in her lungs, and her cry of fear was expelled only as a sigh of relief. She sat up, swung her legs out from under the coverlet and perched on the edge of the bunk as she attempted to make sense of the disturbing nightmare, but already the images were fading from her grasp. She was left only with the feeling that, although she had been the dreamer, like an actress she had merely played another's part - she had dreamed she had been someone else.

 

                Leia shook herself from the thoughts and reached for her robe. She pulled it on, fastened it, and then padded from her cabin through the ship to the cockpit. There she found Chewbacca watching the dawn of the Tatooine suns.

 

                "Any word from Lando?" she questioned as she slid into Han's chair and pulled her legs under her. Sitting here made her feel close to him, as though she could somehow touch him across the desert distance, through the carbonite and tell him she was there

 

                The Wookiee shook his head and grumbled out a reply.

 

                Leia nodded her understanding of the Wookiee's words. There had been no word from Lando for over three days - since he had volunteered to first approach Jabba the Hutt at his gangster's palace. His thoughts had been to attempt to win Han back through a game of Sabacc, though Jabba was a notoriously clever player.

 

                The Princess turned her gaze to the creeping sunlight as it chased back the shadows of night, as the desert's bland vista emerged into day.  Tatooine.

 

                It was a planet she had never before set foot on, but it was a planet that, nonetheless, seemed to hold some power over her destiny, her life. One action on her part, the sending of Artoo Detoo here with the message for Obi-Wan Kenobi, had set the feet of two young men on paths which they might never otherwise have walked. How right it had felt when she had received Lando and Chewie's communiqué telling her Han was on Tatooine.

 

                Tatooine, the name which had ended months of waiting and worrying. Tatooine, where she could seek out Han and return him to his path. Tatooine, where she could seek out Luke's memory and find some meaning for his death and the empty road ahead that he would never tread

 

                "We'll give him until tomorrow noon, as agreed," Leia told Chewbacca, her eyes remaining on the sea of dunes beyond the cockpit. "If we don't hear from him, we'll try the bounty hunter ruse."

 

                She rose from the pilot's chair. Tomorrow was for Han. Today belonged to Luke. "Have Threepio and Artoo loaded the landspeeder?"

 

                Chewbacca rose from his own chair and followed the Princess through the ship, telling her of his thoughts on her trip and the possible foolishness of it. He knew she wouldn't understand the exact meanings of his words, but she would pick up his feelings.

 

                "I'll be fine, Chewie," Leia assured him. "I'll be armed. I've got food and water. I've got the homing pin you gave me and I've got the droids with me to make sure I don't get lost."

 

                The Wookiee grumbled some more.

 

                Leia hesitated at the door of her cabin. "You're needed here in case Lando tries to contact us. Besides, I need to see the farm and I need... want to be alone when I do. If I leave now, I'll make it back before suns down." She punched the stud at the side of the door and it slid open. "Please, tell Threepio I'll be with them in a moment." She disappeared into the cabin before the Wookiee could argue further.

 

*   *   *

 

                Threepio piloted the speeder over the desert terrain and, lost in thought, Leia had watched the sand speed past in a blur of yellows and golds. It had taken a whistle from Artoo, in back, and Threepio's words of; "We're here, Your Highness," to draw her attention. Now, she stood a short distance from a burned out farmstead as the droids remained with the speeder behind her.

 

                Cautiously, she stepped forward toward the ruined domed entrance. Would she find something of Luke here, or was she merely chasing a ghost that her mind refused to release? She peered into the dome and saw blackened, sand coated, stairs leading downwards. Mindful that there might be predators lurking in the shadows, she drew her blaster before venturing down.

 

                Soon she found herself in an open, sunken courtyard. It was crumbling in on itself and rubble lay in assorted piles on the floor of the yard. The walls were smoke black and a faint, acrid tinge remained to irritate the lining of her nose. She holstered her blaster and carefully picked her way through the farm, searching for something of her friend, looking for something other than the images created for her by Luke's own tales of his childhood, looking for something of substance.

 

                She stood in what she imagined was the main living area. A wrecked holo-player lay twisted beside a charred sofa, contorted and melted plastics lay in solid puddles on the floor beneath a burned shelf.

 

                _What did you expect to find here?_ She asked herself. _Did you expect to find him here, alive? Did you expect to feel him here? Did you expect some lingering presence which would tell you he did not suffer?_

 

                She crossed the room to the shelf and crouched down. There she picked up a small piece of plastic and turned it in her hands. It was opaque now, though she knew it had once been a clear holo image. Had it been of Luke? His Aunt? Uncle?

 

                Yes. She answered her own questions. She had expected, she had _wanted_ , to feel him here. To feel that something remained of her friend. Something other than this emptiness, this charred relic of his childhood. When she was a teenager, a young friend had died in a speeder accident and, with her parents, she had visited the youth's family. As the grownups had conversed in quiet whispers of condolences, Leia had left the group and found herself in the young man's bedroom. The room had felt so alive, as though the boy was somehow still there. There was no weeping, no grief. Instead, the room had been sunny and warm.

 

                However, Luke was not here. Perhaps that was due to the fire which had raged through the homestead, erasing from the structure the memory of those who had lived here. Perhaps it was because Luke had not died here...

 

                _...not dead_...

 

                ... that she could not find him.

 

                She dropped the ruined holo and wiped her hands on  her trousers, then turned from the room. The next door led to a bedroom and here a smile rose on her lips. The bed was an almost unrecognisable black heap, what other furniture there had been had crumpled to ashes and twisted empty frames, but sitting in a corner, barely touched by heat was the model of a T-16 Skyhopper. This had been Luke’s room!

 

                Quickly stepping over the rubble, she reached the model and lifted it from its resting place. If she had expected some sudden sense of Luke being with her, of no longer being alone here, then she was sorely disappointed. The model was cold metal and plastics, nothing else, but she clasped it to her and held it tight. A toy, an object of Luke’s dreams and aspirations, something of his she could keep and remember him by, something to replace her holos of him lost on Hoth.

 

                As fresh tears for her friend prickled at her eyes, she left the room and continued through the farm, now unsure of her reasons for being here. She had not found Luke, she had merely found something which once belonged to him. She had not found the peace of his childhood, only the darkness of his childhood’s end. Why had she based so many unfounded expectations on this place which held nothing for her?

 

                The neighbouring room, the last room, was also a bedroom. It was larger than Luke’s with sunken holes inn the walls which could only have been closets. There was the same rubble here, the same soot and ash, and she turned to leave.

 

                The glint of light which caught her eye came from the end closet. Leia, her curiosity kindled, peeked into the built-in wardrobe. The light had come from a hole in the ceiling and a chunk of masonry lay at her feet. It was nothing. She shifted her feet and her shoes scratched against metal. Glancing down she saw a metallic glimmer from the floor. She crouched, put the T-16 model down, and scraped at the soot and sand with her hands. She uncovered a plate of what could only be hull heat-shielding set into the floor.

 

                Sitting back on her heels, she surveyed the closet, noting where the drawers and hanger would once have been. If she had guessed correctly, the plate would have been hidden under the carefully constructed set of drawers. Smiling, with a growing sense of that she had finally found something, she placed her fingers around the edge of the plate and pulled. It didn’t budge. She rummaged around in her pocket and withdrew a small hydro-driver. She placed it at the edge of the plate and worked it under, then twisted. The plate popped up from the floor.

 

                Leia shifted it to the side and peered into the small hole it had covered and at the items it had hidden. Reaching in, Leia lifted out the first: a small holo-cube. She smiled at the picture. It showed a young woman cradling two infants, one blond, one dark, both sleeping. She peered at the babies, at the blonde child: could that be Luke? Then who was the other babe? It was an intriguing scene, but after a minute or so Leia placed it to the side feeling a trifle guilty at prying into a private moment.

 

                The remaining items were a collection of old flimsy and letters all dated twenty-one years earlier and Leia read their contents with a growing sense of disquiet.  She learned of Luke’s parents, and of the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker’s death at the hands of Darth Vader. She learned of Luke’s sibling - a twin girl, separated from him and spirited across the galaxy to a life of privilege on Alderaan. And Leia’s carefully crafted background crumpled around her as the words sank deep and as she suddenly realised just who the other child was.

 

                They had joked with Han about their birth dates being so close, about Leia being a day older than Luke. It wasn’t strictly true. Leia had been born in the closing hours of the night, Luke in the early hours of morning. In truth there was only sixteen minutes between them. Twins.

 

                _She had to kneel on the chair to reach over the table top. The paints and paper were strewn over its polished surface, and, tired of the brushes, she had tossed them to the side and now shovelled up the tick paint with her hands and spread the bright colours over the paper with her palms. She had paint on her face, her clothes and in her hair._

_“Leia!”_

_She turned and giggled, a huge grin breaking out at the arrival of her other. “Look,” she told the woman, holding up her small hands. “I painted!”_

_Her mother laughed, lightly. “You certainly did.” She scooped the little girl up and carried her to the washroom…._

 

                The brief memory had been vivid, powerful with its simple images. It had been so long since she had thought of her mother, her birth-mother, so long since she remembered she was Princess Organa only through adoption. She lifted the holo once more and studied the young woman - her mother - and the children.

 

                “No.” The whisper was not a denial of her find, it was the sudden realization of her loss. This was why she had to come here, some part of her knew her heritage, some part which had hidden and waited until now, until it was too late to share the knowledge with her family, her brother. She touched the holo-cube, stroked the cool plastic of the baby boy’s head and recalled the young man. “My brother.”

 

                There was no anger, no malice directed toward those who had separated them, who had deprived them of each other for reason’s the documents did not disclose. In time, Leia knew she would discover those reasons as surely as she had discovered this place. Now she only felt deep regret, loss and the loneliness of renewed grief.

 

                She closed her eyes, leaned against the wall, held the picture in her hands and quietly wept.

 

*   *   *

 

                After washing the old soot and the smell of the farm from her body and changing into clean clothes, Leia joined Chewbacca sitting behind the holo-game board for a cool drink. She placed the T-16 model onto the board, relaxed into the acceleration couch and sipped her drink.

 

                “Lando?” She eventually questioned the Wookiee. Chewbacca threw a glance at Threepio as the droid trotted through the compartment . He shook his head and murmured out his own question.

 

                “Then it looks like we’ll have to go in after all.” She gazed into her cup. “It sounds wrong, but I’m hoping Han is still in the carbonite. It could complicate things if Jabba’s seen fit to release him for his own entertainment.” It was also a chilling thought, Han had suffered so much on Bespin at Vader’s hands without similar from the Hutt.

 

                Chewie directed his words at Threepio who came scurrying back into the passenger area, then he repeated his question to the Princess and gestured at the toy.

 

                Leia glanced at the protocol droid as Threepio translated. “Chewbacca is asking about Master Luke. He asked if you found anything at the farm.”

 

                Leia lifted the sky hopper. “It was Luke’s.”

 

                Chewbacca shook his head and rumbled again, his tone deeper, a little annoyed with her lack of response, her refusal to acknowledge the meaning behind his question.

 

                “He says, that is not what he asked,” Threepio provided, a little apologetically.

 

                Leia studied the Wookiee for a moment at first not wanting to share her knowledge, her pain. Wanting only to keep it for her own, nurture it and guard it jealously from prying outsiders. It was hers and it seemed it was all she had left - they were gone, all gone and only the pain remained. However, Chewbacca was her lover’s friend, her friend, and he had been Luke’s friend. She placed her hand in her pocket, drew out the small holo-cube and the folded documents and handed them to Chewbacca.

 

                “Luke was…”

 

                _…is._

 

                “…my brother,” she told him quietly, simply as he studied the picture. “But, he wasn’t there. There was nothing of him there.” There was a hitch in her words, a heavy sadness.

 

                Chewbacca shifted his weight closer to the princess and drew her into a gentle embrace as she explained her find at the farm and answered his questions of surprise.  He understood her feelings, had understood her desire to seek out her friend at his home. He shared her loss and disappointment. She had lost a friend, only to discover she had also lost her brother, her family.

 

                However, there was a new day approaching and Chewbacca was painfully aware of the trials the Princess had yet to face in the coming hours. There would be new problems and difficulties for her to deal with as they waited to hear from Lando Calrissian, as they planned to release their other friend from his frozen prison. Leia had to lay Skywalker to rest if she wished to recover Han. The new day would require all their strength and resolve. There would be time again, after Han was returned, to remember those lost.

 

                He held her for a long while , accepting her grief and giving whatever comfort he could, before reluctantly releasing her from his embrace. He quietly chuffed at her. This time Leia needed no translation from Threepio for she understood the Wookiee’s meaning. Silently she nodded and rose from the couch. Leaving Luke’s toy sitting on the board, she returned to her cabin to rest, to prepare her mind for the next day’s activities.

 

                Today had been for Luke. Tomorrow was for Han.


	5. Patterns of Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I would have come without the escort, Father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember that this series was written before the prequels - before Revenge of the Sith - and past events were open to speculation and imagination.
> 
> Star Wars and it's characters and situations are the copy right of Lucasfilm and Disney. Like I always say, I just borrow the world and play a little in it. My only profit is the fun I have.

Previously published in “A Tremor in the Force” 8, 1994

 

 

 

**Patterns Of battle**

                                                                                               

 

          The red gaseous mass shifted uneasily in the vacuum of space.  Differing hues of colour and light battled within its dimensions, fighting for brief seconds of life before being swallowed by the utter emptiness in which the body existed. It was, Darth Vader mused as he watched from the bridge of the _Executor_ , much like the battle which raged within his son, much like the one he fought himself so many years ago when he was first introduced to the true source of power he held within his grasp.

 

                _Much like the battle you fight once more, My Lord Vader._

 

                He instantly dismissed the disturbing thought. His struggle was over: Anakin Skywalker had perished years ago in the flames of darkness, his light extinguished by the passions of power. There was no battle.

 

                His head tilted as a squadron of TIE fighters and Interceptors darted past the bridge and he watched as they disappeared into the red cloud, his eyes following the path of the lead ship. His son, however, was a different matter. Sohn Vader had learned much in the months following his capture. He had grown and matured, earned a dark edge to his personality. He had proven to be a skilled pilot, had honed his instincts when using the sabre, and had won the fear and respect of men both under and above him. But, he was still new to this power he possessed, still blind to his potential, still struggled with those brief instances of light when Luke Skywalker rose from the Vader darkness to protest at his suffocation. These were the times when Sohn faltered, when he was repelled by his new standing, by the disquiet he instilled in other men. His father knew, however, that soon he would learn to enjoy the mastery he held over lesser beings.

 

                Vader closed his eyes behind his mask, relaxing and reaching out with his mind, searching for the fringes of his son’s consciousness. There was resistance, a brief buffer to his mental probe, but from lessons past Sohn opened his feelings to his father and exposed his inner self.

 

                So much pain. So much fear and loneliness. Abhorrence at his father’s touch.  So many twisted and confused emotions. And rage, such an intense anger that Vader almost retreated from the heat of it. However, he lingered, soaking himself with his child’s untamed energy: so much power held in the tentative grasp of a frightened boy. He had felt that hold loosen only once, had seen the effects of Sohn’s anger on the body of an unfortunate soldier who had merely walked in on the boy at the wrong moment. He would forever recall the sudden burst of fury, the searing strength of the Force and Sohn’s terror when he saw what he was capable of, his stilted surprise at his own actions. He had glanced at his father, his eyes wild with horror, with fear of reprisal, and beyond that a tiny glint of understanding, an unnerving sense of satisfaction and knowledge which had sent Vader from the room. Since that moment Sohn had acquired depth: among his chaotic emotions, his squalling powers, there was a peculiar calm which Vader could not quite grasp, which Sohn kept cleverly beyond his father’s reach. It troubled the Dark Lord: what was it that his son so jealously guarded?

 

                _You fear him._

 

                Vader stifled the thought. No, he did not fear the boy. That emotion held nothing for him, and yet… Had he once not known fear? Had he not felt its claws scrabble through him when he had toppled back from the thrust of Obi-Wan’s sabre and fallen into the volcanic crater? Had he not suffered the same feelings as his son when comprehension hit? Had he not screamed and reached skyward when the molten rock encased his body much as Luke had when the carbonite covered him?

 

                _Luke?_

 

                He had closed his mind to the shriek of mental anguish which had risen from the carbonite pit. He had heard only the hiss of steam, the cracking of freezing liquids, and the whine of servo-motors as the block of carbonite had risen into the chamber. He had required no sensors to tell him his son was alive. Even within hibernation, Luke’s presence was strong, his mind already reeling with tortured nightmares. He had gazed for a long while at the crouched figure who reached upward in the desperate hope he might find escape, whose face had been frozen with his cry of agony unfinished. His son.

 

                He had turned away then, turned away from the sudden rush of emotions which had flooded him. He had denied the guilt, denied the horror of what he had done, denied the doubts. He only relished the sweetness of triumph: he had his son! He had won the boy back from Obi-Wan, retrieved that which had been stolen. His victory over his old master was indeed complete. His foot had kicked against Skywalker’s fallen lightsabre and he bent down to recover it.

 

                It was his sword! The one he had built himself, the one which he had spent many frustrated, exasperated hours to complete. His gloved fingers had brushed against the activation stud and the sabre pulsed forth, its blade glowing blue white, and again he experienced the joy of accomplishment he had felt as a young man. The memories of his training sessions had abruptly come to mind, the warmth of companionship and camaraderie had flooded him, and the ghost of Anakin Skywalker reared from the Vader darkness to taunt him.

 

                _No! There was no battle!_

 

                It was then he became aware of a curiousness, of a feather-light caress, of a strained hopefulness, of another seeking him. Vader opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on the red gas cloud, on the fighters he knew were hidden inside. He smiled beneath his mask: Sohn had become bold.  The boy had returned his father’s probing when he had sensed Vader’s thought drifting, when he had sensed Vader recalling past emotions, moments of weakness, and was now attempting to search the dark Lord.

 

                Vader gradually opened to his son’s touch, teased him forward when the boy pulled back with surprised hesitation. Sohn tentatively reached forward with that same curiousness, that same hopefulness.

 

                _Come, boy. Come and behold power. Come and find strength within Darkness. Come and know the true essence of the Force. Come and learn to cast off light, weakness and constraint. Come and follow the path you were born for. Come…_

 

                Sohn retreated and Vader followed sensing his son’s indecision, his son’s sadness and disappointment. The patterns of the Force within Sohn were unsure: a shading between light and dark which fluctuated wildly as the battle raged. His son’s feelings were understandable, he conceded, given the current circumstances. However, Vader knew from experience that victory was assured, the boy had already tread on the path of darkness, and struggle as he might, there was no turning back.

 

                “My Lord?”

 

                Admiral Piett’s words drew Vader back to the situation at hand. “What is it, Admiral?” he asked, turning away from the view beyond the ship, turning away from his son’s sudden relief at the break in contact.

 

                “The Rebel ships have left the planet’s surface. They will be in range in moments, sir.”

 

                “Only when the fighters have engaged them do we move the ship from the cloud cover,” Vader ordered briefly.

 

                “Yes, My Lord.”

 

                The Dark Lord ignored Piett’s perfunctory bow, his thoughts turning to the Rebel convoy lifting off from Abarim and heading into his trap, heading toward his son’s squadron as they lay waiting within the red cloud which massed at the edge of the system, heading to their deaths. And they would die not knowing it was their friend’s hand which fingered the trigger. Vader smiled humourlessly, it would be interesting to watch his son’s first encounter with his former allies, interesting to see just how many of the Rebel tactics he had passed onto his men.

 

                He stood, observing the battle monitors impassively as alarms klaxoned and as the Rebel ships and their fighter escorts entered the trap. The TIE fighters emerged from the cloud and Sohn’s voice was the first to break the communication silence.

 

                “Break right, Flight. Draw the ‘Wings from the convoy.” His rough tones were measured and unhurried.

 

                “I count twelve Rebel fighters, sir.”

 

                Vader watched as the TIE fighters and Interceptors split. The former headed for the cargo barges the Alliance used to ferry supplies, the latter targeted the squad of X-Wings.

 

                “Cut off their escape route!” Sohn ordered. “Direct them toward the command ship.”

 

                A cargo barge exploded. The stars beyond the _Executor_ shifted and moved as Piett took the Destroyer from behind the cloud and into position.  The Rebel ships veered abruptly away at the appearance of the huge vessel which had remained hidden from view and scanners behind the red cloud. Vader could feel the panic of the Rebel personnel, could almost hear them squealing in consternation. They were hopelessly out-numbered.

 

                “Watch it!” Sohn’s voice cut through a burst of static. “One breaking through at twenty degrees!”

 

                “I see him, sir.”

 

                “No, the leader’s mine.”

 

                Vader watched as Sohn’s fighter engaged the Rebel, drew the leader away from his men. His skill as a pilot gave him the immediate advantage; he sighted the X-Wing and missed. His Interceptor veered away and looped around the T-65. He twisted his ship around; spiral dived and came up, once more, behind the Rebel. Again he misfired.

 

                The Rebel pilot peeled away from the fight, circled around his antagonist and was abruptly diverted by one of Sohn’s men who had come to his commander’s aid.

 

                “Leave him!” Sohn snapped, sounding almost desperate. Vader could feel his tension, his turmoil, his sudden doubts, his conflicting loyalties.

 

                The lead X-Wing doubled back and brought his guns to bear on Sohn’s wingman.

 

                “Sir, I…”

 

                More explosions, brief flares of light as both Rebels and Imperials perished. The TIEs destroyed the last transport and the remaining X-Wings broke contact and fled, each heading in different directions, each hoping to elude their pursuers and escape to hyperspace. Only one succeeded.

 

                Vader turned from the monitors. “Have my son brought to me,” he ordered, his words tinged with anger. He strode quickly from the bridge.

 

*   *   *

 

                “I would have come without the escort, Father.” Sohn calmly addressed the dark Lord once the door to Vader’s chambers had closed after the storm troopers.

 

                Vader did not immediately respond. He silently observed the young officer who stood before him. Sohn was still dressed in his flight suit, his features covered by the concealing helmet the Emperor ordered him to wear. He stood straight and unflinching under his father’s gaze, his inner feelings hidden and silenced. The boy was indeed strong and Vader was proud at that moment: any lesser a man would have pleaded and grovelled for mercy when brought before his master.

 

                “Remove your helmet.” The Dark Lord wanted him unmasked, wanted to strip him of the façade he was attempting to construct, wanted to see the real reactions on his face.

 

                Sohn complied, slowly lifting both helmet and mask away from his face. He held them under his arm, then turned his naked eyes to his father.

 

                Vader studied him for several silent moments. He noticed the cropped blonde hair, the pale skin of his face, the jaw set square and determined, the eyes which held that same resolve and he was reminded of a young Rebel who had approached him on Bespin, who dared to challenge him to a duel, who had attacked first and had thus set his feet unwittingly on the first steps to darkness. He had admired the youth’s courage.

 

                “You know the penalties for failure,” the Dark Lord told him, watching a muscle pulse in Sohn’s cheek. Vader smiled at the tiny reaction.

 

                “I did not fail you, My Lord,” Sohn stated, sounding sure, his voice scraping through torn vocal cords. “My task was to stop the relief supplies getting through. I achieved that.”

 

                “You also allowed one to escape. Your wingman died because of your hesitation.”

 

                “My wingman died because he disobeyed me,” Sohn responded tightly, injecting annoyance into his voice, unable to subdue his growing anger, his unease.

 

                “Who was the pilot?” Vader demanded and Sohn’s eyes skirted away, his defences dropped momentarily and he shifted restlessly. “A friend?” The Dark Lord suggested when Sohn remained silent.

 

                Sohn closed his eyes against the memories which surged forward, the pain which closed over him. It had been Wedge. He had recognised Antilles’ fuselage markings immediately, after all hadn’t he helped place them there? He opened his eyes, aware of his father’s attention, aware of the Dark Lord once more scrutinizing his thoughts and feelings. He hesitated for a moment, pushed down his emotions, locked them back in place then straightened his back. “Yes,” he answered, knowing to lie would be pointless.

 

                Vader had watched the struggle, had seen the Skywalker traits emerging, had seen the remorse and regret, had watched as Sohn rose above the weakness. “You have no friends. Not here and not within the Alliance.”

 

                Vader caught the abrupt recollections which spilled unwanted into Sohn’s mind: the embrace from a dark-haired girl, the lopsided grin from a laughing spacer, the brilliant sunlight of a Tatooine noon…

 

                “It’s… difficult,” Sohn confessed. Difficult to turn your back on those you cared about, difficult to accept that this was nothing more than a distressing nightmare, difficult to accept that this dark beast towering over him was the father he had admired for so many innocent years.

 

                Yes, Vader acknowledged to himself, it was difficult. It was difficult to distance yourself, but it could be done. He drew himself back from his son, seeing the boy before him only as an officer who had failed to please him. “You must ask yourself, Commander, what you want.”

 

                For Sohn there was a moment of stillness, of quiet, and then the darkness exploded upon him. The power thrilled through his body and he cried out with sudden agony. He could not stop the surging sensations and he sank to his knees, his helmet clattering to the floor as his fingers lost their grips. Images ripped into his mind: the twisted corpse of the man he had killed, the burned bones of his guardians, the smiling white-bearded face of a liar, a helmet cracking open on a dirt floor to reveal his own face, carrion birds winging down upon a defenceless infant and a voice echoed:

 

                _Stay and be safe. Stay and find strength._

 

                “What do you want?” Vader repeated, watching Sohn grimace, feeling him futilely attempt to push back his father’s powers, his father’s strength of evil.

 

                And Sohn repeated the words he had learned in the past, repeated the words which had caused the Emperor to cackle in triumph when first he heard them, the words which had deeply wounded and humbled a proud young Jedi. “To serve the Empire.”

 

                And the Dark Lord gloried in the hatred and anger he felt in those words. He turned from his son. “You may go.”

 

                Sohn gasped in relief and heaved in a breath to steady himself, to cool his growing fury at this new humiliation. He pushed himself to his feet with trembling hands and donned his helmet. “My Lord,” he acknowledged with a bow of his head. He turned and departed his father’s company.

 

                Vader remained quiet, feeling the Force calm and subside after the brief rush. He had corrected the boy, had reminded him the youth of his oath to the Empire. Why then, did he feel so disturbed, why did his senses heave with apprehension, why did his son’s presence cause such a storm within him? He closed his eyes, stifling his feelings, silencing his perplexing thoughts and reached out for the darkness around him, drawing it in, drawing it down, searching for his answers within the solace of its folds.

 

*   *   *

 

                In the security of his own quarters, Sohn once more removed his helmet. He held it in his hands and stared with loathing at the contours of the mask. He hated this costume, hated those who bid him wear it. More than anything, he was angry with himself, annoyed that had allowed his feelings to become confused and unfocused. Antilles’ presence had unsettled him, had presented him with a problem he had previously chosen to ignore: the possibility of a friend getting in the way of his plans, his destiny’s true path. He would not be caught so unaware again. He could not give his father another chance to question his loyalties - he required his father’s trust.

 

                And yet… had he not sensed an uncertainty from the Dark Lord before the battle? Had he not felt a shadow emerge from the blackness which surrounded the man? Had his father not experienced guilt and regret? Sohn glanced down at the mask and dismissed his thoughts derisively, his anger simmering once more in the wake of his weakening feelings. His father felt nothing, he was an empty shell which existed only to house the power of darkness, and Sohn was merely a means to enhance that power.

 

                _What do you want?_ His father’s voice echoed at him, and his hatred died, his anger stilled with sorrow. What do I want? He questioned himself. I want what I’ve lost…

 

                _…my friends. Han and Leia. Warmth, for I am so very cold. I want…_

 

                …And he fought the thought, struggled to keep it hidden for he felt Vader’s touch descend once more. But, the quiet angry whisper of deep sadness broke through…

 

                _…to become a Jedi  like my father._


	6. By the Turn of a Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia, Lando, Chewbacca and the droids enter Jabba's Palace in an attempt to rescue their friend Han Solo from Jabba the Hutt.
> 
> How will they fare without Luke Skywalker?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply.

Previously published in “A Tremor in the Force” 10, 1998

 

**By The Turn Of A Card**

 

 

                It was the idiot. Lando Calrissian stared at the spread of card-chips he had only just placed upon the gaming board with a mixture of dismay, frustration and a growing sense of dread. At the very last second before the card entered the field of the table his Mistress of Staves had shimmered and shifted into the Idiot's facade, and his winning hand of sabacc had become a loser. Lando slouched morosely into his chair and glanced up at his chuckling host, Jabba the Hutt, as the gangster's lackey, Bib Fortuna gathered up the placed bets from the table. Salacious crumb, Jabba's pet which sat with him on the throne, cackled along with his master. This wasn't going as planned.

 

                His gaze then flickered passed the crowd of courtiers, who had gathered to watch the Sabacc game, and his eyes settled on the far wall and the object which hung there like a favoured decoration. It was a block of pure carbonite, its surface broken by a facial expression for ever etched in agony, by hands thrown up in a futile attempt at self-defence and which were caught and frozen. It looked like a cleverly crafted sculpture, cut from the metal by some artist whose mind was caught in the nightmare of madness. In reality it was the live, sleeping body of his friend, Han Solo.

 

                It was his fault Han was there. It was his act of betrayal which had sealed his friend’s fate, and that of others. His city; his beautiful, peaceful sanctuary  - lost. His people scattered and homeless, or caught on Bespin within the Empire's spreading grasp.

 

 _And for what_ **?** Lando questioned himself with incredulous sarcasm and shame. _All those lost lives - for what? So the Dark Lord of the Sith could catch and kill one boy._

 

                He drew his attention from the carbonite block as Jabba rumbled out a question, his mind quickly translating Huttese; "Another Hand?"

 

                Lando glanced around the other three players as he took stock of the cash reserves he had left. It wasn't much and the stakes hand been getting bigger the longer they played and the more they drank. It had been his idea to infiltrate into one of Jabba's marathon Sabacc matches and, while on a winning streak, wager his hand on the unique decoration the Hutt owned. Thus far he had yet to discover that hoped for winning streak and the chances of getting Han back without the aid of the Princess Leia and Chewbacca - and risking all of their lives in the process - were getting slimmer with each card he received: he knew if he didn't contact the Falcon soon that Chewbacca and Leia would attempt to carry through their bounty hunter scam.

 

                He watched as the Xalan Plainsman beside him withdrew from the game, then he nodded. "Sure, I'm in for another hand."

 

                The Hutt's massive body undulated with waves of laughter. "It appears our human friend is eager to lose the shirt from his back."

 

                Lando chuckled along with the beast, feigning a drunken cheerfulness he did not feel at the Hutt's use of the cliché. "I was going to offer it as my next wager, but it's not quite your size."

 

                Jabba chortled at the intoxicated man before him, then motioned to his major-domo to reshuffle the deck and proceed. However, before Fortuna could begin dealing, an elegant chime resounded around the throne room. The creature looked up at his master and the Hutt nodded in response. As Fortuna scuttled from the court Jabba explained: "It appears we have been interrupted." He stabbed at the controls set at the side of his throne and the Sabacc table withdrew beneath the Hutt's mass. "We will continue the game at a later hour."

 

                Lando moved back into the crowd happy to have received a reprieve, pleased to have been given the chance to gather his wits. He lifted a full glass of spirits from a passing service droid and sipped at it, wondering what the bittersweet tasting liquid was called. Then Fortuna returned to the hall leading another toward Jabba, another whose battered armour he instantly recognised: Boba Fett.

 

                Lando shrank further into a darkened corner of the Hutt's chamber, cursing his poor luck as Jabba welcomed the bounty hunter. The two conversed in lower tones, then Jabba made a slight gesture and two Gamorrean's dragged a pleading human male before the throne. The Bounty Hunter stepped back as Jabba pronounced sentence on the wretched being and the guards removed him to the cells in the lower level where he would wait until the Hutt decided he wished some entertainment.

 

                Lando's eyes remained on Fett as the band struck up a lively beat and as the alcohol flowed more freely. Oola, Jabba's favourite dancer rose from beside the throne and began to more rhythmically in time with the beat, her chains clinking along with the tune. Calrissian felt sick, disheartened. How could he continue this sham? How could he avoid Fett and instant recognition?  Fett, a wild card, had entered the game and the odds had changed, the stakes had risen. Fett, who had out matched Han Solo, out thought him and had delivered him to Jabba for a hefty bounty. Fett...

 

                Fett! And Lando smiled into his drink as a sudden realisation hit him. Fett! It was crazy, it was insane, it would mean bringing in Leia as the bounty hunter, but it may be the only move he had left, the last trick up his sleeve. He quickly swallowed the remainder of his drink, as though the liquid was an elixir of courage, and discreetly made his way from the chamber to the quarters Jabba had assigned to him for the duration of his stay. Once there he hurriedly activated his comlink and relayed his information and idea before sanity could re-assert its grip and turn him away from his decided course of action.

 

*   *   *

 

                "At last we have the mighty Chewbacca!" Jabba roared with delight as the bounty hunter Boushh stood with his captive before the Hutt's throne. The Wookiee's limbs were bound and a metal collar surrounded his neck, the chain attached linked him to his captor like a leash. After one howl of protest Chewbacca hung his head and waited for the outcome of the hunter's deal with the gangster.

 

                "You are welcome to the reward of twenty-five thousand."

 

                Boushh, his head covered by a helmeted mask and dressed in a simple brown jacket with a rope of cartridges thrown over his shoulder, immediately responded in his native Ubese. "I want fifty thousand, no less." His voice was rough and electronically amplified.

 

                Jabba, a master at several languages, was temporarily silent as he attempted to translate the words into Huttese; the hunter's language was not his most fluent and he struggled to find the correct words and tenses. Then he roared with indignation as they fell into place. "Fifty!! Why must I pay so much?"

 

                Calmly the hunter removed a small metallic ball from his pocket. With a slight movement of his thumb the being activated the thermal detonator. His meaning did not require any complex translation. The courtiers immediately moved back, Salacious Crumb jumped from his place at Jabba's tail and hid behind the Hutt's bulk. Boba Fett instantly pulled his blaster.

 

                And Jabba began to laugh, his slug-like body rippling with mirth. "This bounty hunter is my kind of scum. Fearless and inventive." He announced to his court. He turned and addressed Boushh. "I will pay thirty-five thousand, no more."

 

                Boushh considered the offer for a moment, then he shut off the detonator and nodded. "Agreed." He released Chewbacca into Jabba's custody and moved back as the Wookiee, protesting loudly, was dragged away to the cells below. His eyes, behind the narrow slit of his mask, scanned the crowd and noticed Fett. The two hunters greeted each other with a bow of the head.

 

                Beneath the Boushh facade Leia Organa fought to calm her pounding heart, fought to stop the adrenaline rush which caused her limbs to tremble. A thin trickle of sweat tickled down her spine as Fett turned away and Leia pushed down her anger, rejected her heady moment of hatred for the bounty hunter. She despised the man: Fett fed on the unfortunate, made his living from the grief of others, grew wealthy on blood tainted money, and he had carried Han from her. Snatched him from her grasp and brought him to this place where he was displayed to the court as an object of ridicule, as an example of Jabba's wrath upon those who crossed him. The bounty hunter disgusted her, but she reminded herself that he could prove useful for their purpose, that he could be exploited just as he had exploited them on Bespin.

 

                "My master invites you to stay a while and has instructed that you be paid on your departure."

 

                Leia turned at the voice to find a Twi'lek standing beside her. She eyed him with revulsion; he was of a proud race, how could he stoop so low to serve one such as Jabba? "Thank you." She responded quickly, still speaking Ubese, a language she had learned as an adolescent preparing for the life of a diplomat.

 

                Fortuna scuttled away and Leia scanned the chamber looking for Lando. It was then she caught sight of the carbonite block. It had been months since she had seen Han, seen him as Vader had left him, and the despair and wretchedness she had experienced on Bespin came surging back. She wanted to approach the figure, wanted to touch his face as though she could smooth out the frozen lines of pain by a simple caress, wanted to rush forward there and then, and free him from the cruel prison of hibernation.

 

                _Do you know where you are? Can you remember what happened? Are you aware?_ She closed her eyes in anguish and rocked on her heels, now oblivious to her surroundings. _Dear Gods, I pray you have slept in ignorance, that your mind is free from your captive body._

 

                A gentle hand, placed upon her shoulder, pulled her back and she turned to find Lando behind her. They did not speak, his action was enough: now was not the time for grief, not the time for recalling the painful past. Now was the time for carefulness, for remembering each part, each step of their hastily constructed plan. She was Boushh, a toughened bounty hunter from a proud nomadic race. She nodded her understanding of his gesture.

 

                Lando moved back into the crowd, ducking down as Fett turned his way. He remained near the back walls watching the bounty hunter move through the crowds towards an exit tunnel which lead to the guest quarters. He glanced toward Leia and saw her conversing with a Hammerhead. It was time to make his move and, pushing down his hesitancy, his fear, his doubts about his own idea, Lando followed Fett from the chamber.

 

                The tunnel walls were hewed from the dry Tatooine rock upon which the palace rested. It was dry and musty, the light poor.

 

                "Fett!"

 

                The bounty hunter twisted around, his blaster instantly in hand and pointed at the ex-Baron of Cloud City.

 

                "Calrissian!" There was surprise and amusement in his voice as Lando stepped closer. "So, you escaped Bespin."

 

                Lando shrugged, a tiny smile tinged his lips. "It wasn't so hard." He spread his hands, palm side up, to show Fett that he was un-armed.

 

                There was tight laughter from beneath the hunter's helmet. "And now your conscience had got the better of you. You're here for Solo."

 

                "Something like that."

 

                "The Wookiee?"

 

                "Having Chewie caught was the only way I could get him in," Lando explained calmly, watching Fett's blaster and trigger finger.

 

                "And the Ubese?"

 

                "A useful tool. He gets thirty-five thousand and is none the wiser."

 

                Fett scoffed at the explanation. "You expect me to believe that?"

 

                And Lando smiled. "No."

 

                There was silence as Fett considered Lando's words. "What do you want, Calrissian?" There was suspicion in his voice. "You must know I'll turn you over to Jabba."

 

                "Not if you're working for me."

 

                Fett lowered his blaster, accepting that he was not in any immediate danger. "You wish to hire me?" There was surprise again, disbelief underscored the last word.

 

                "You're the best," Lando told him, and Fett bowed his head in acceptance of the compliment. "You're the one who cornered Han. I figure you're the one to pull him out."

 

                "I'm expensive. I could get more from Jabba for your hide."

 

                "Perhaps," Lando conceded, heartened that Fett had chosen to listen to him and no immediately turn him in. "But think of the challenge, the achievement of snatching Han from beneath the Hutt's nose. I have money, it should be enough to pay for your services."

 

                "It won't be easy," Fett told him, his voice sounded thoughtful, his manner changing from one of suspicion to one of business. "Jabba is rather fond of Vader's art work, and he is a dangerous enemy as Solo found out."

 

                "Think of the respect you'd gain from Jabba's rivals? The prestige you'd gain in other sectors."

 

                "I don't think so." Fett turned from him.

 

                "Twenty thousand."

 

                "Thirty."

 

                "Twenty-five," Lando responded. It didn't really matter what figure they settled on. He didn't have that much cash anyway, and he certainly wasn't counting on actually having to pay Fett. However, he needed the bounty hunter and bargaining may convince him the money was available.

 

                "Twenty-eight."

 

                "Done."

 

*   *   *

 

                "Artoo, are you sure this was such a good idea?"

 

                Threepio scuttled after Artoo Detoo as the small Astro droid followed the robed Twi'lek who had greeted them in the cavernous entrance hall of the palace. He threw the Gamorrean walking beside them a brief, nervous scan: he knew these pig-like beasts had no tolerance for droids and was rather afraid that he and Artoo would end up as piles of discarded scrap collecting dust in some forgotten corner of Jabba's domain.

 

                The group rounded a bend and descended a flight of steps and the droids found themselves in the middle of a party. Beings from all corners of the galaxy danced and jigged in front of Jabba's throne. The gangster himself was rocking back and forth in time with the music the live band provided. It was a disgusting sight: Jabba's flesh swelled and rolled like some ocean tide, his tongue lolled loosely from his mouth as he leered at the female Twi'lek who swayed provocatively before him.

 

                It took all of Threepio's resolve, and the presence of the Gamorrean, to keep him from turning on his heels and making a quick exit. He followed Artoo through the prancing throng and found himself positioned before Jabba. He waited anxiously as the major-domo climbed up next to his master and whispered in Jabba's ear. The roar of displeasure and the sudden silence which followed did nothing to aid Threepio's courage.

 

                The courtiers moved back and the droids found themselves alone on the floor and the centre of attention.

 

                "Droids!" Jabba growled, grasping Bib Fortuna by the scruff of his neck and pulling him close. "You interrupt me for a pair of droids?!"

 

                The Twi'lek hastily explained. "They bring a message master, and insist that it is for your ears alone."

 

                Jabba pushed bib to the side and turned on the droids. He eyed them suspiciously. "Well?" He rumbled at them.

 

                Artoo shrilled out an electronic stream of chatter and Threepio reluctantly stepped forward. "Uh, my mistress.. Uh.." He glanced around the chamber at the crowd.

 

                "Relay your message, droid. My friends will hear it, too." There was a distinct threatening tone in the Hutt's voice.

 

                Theepio leaned toward Artoo. "The message, Artoo!"

 

                The Astro droid tilted back slightly and a life sized hologram image of a young woman appeared. Jabba murmured his appreciation of her figure, her looks and his tongue hung from his open mouth. He made a comment in Huttese and the crowd giggled and cackled in response to his obscene suggestion.

 

                Leia, watching from a corner, turned away at the vile words. Her gut twisted in fear and revulsion; her image was being defiled, her body had become the object of lust and she felt as though that hologram really was her standing with the droids, felt as though she had left her body somehow and was watching it from afar. She moved further into the corner, trying to throw away the feeling, trying to view the scene as dispassionately as possible. She was safe, she was hidden and would, hopefully, remain so until they escaped this place.

 

                Her image spoke and her husky tones hushed the crowd. "I am The Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan..."

 

                "Princess of Nothing," Jabba responded with a laugh.

 

                "...I am also a friend of Captain Solo's. I realise that Han owes you a great deal of money, Jabba, and has accrued a certain percentage in interest. I am prepared to meet with you and discuss the terms for his release. I am also prepared to pay off all his debts. I plead with you to consider my offer and the benefits which you will gain. Please return my droids with your reply." The hologram bowed her head and disappeared.

 

                There was a moment of quiet as Jabba considered the Princess' words, and Leia held her breath searching for Lando among the crowd. She spotted him with Fett near the rear of the chamber. Jabba's choice now would determine how they acted. If he accepted the terms then Boushh would leave and return as the Princess. However, after the Hutt's earlier words, Leia was loathed to attempt this and perhaps put herself in further danger. If Jabba rejected the offer then they would proceed with Lando's idea and Boushh would remain.

 

                Jabba glanced at the hanging block of carbonite. "There will be no terms," he announced. "I like Solo where he is!"

 

                Curiosity made Threepio follow Jabba's gaze. He started in surprise. "Artoo, look! Captain Solo! And he's still frozen in carbonite!"

 

                Threepio's outburst drew the Hutt's attention back to the droids.

 

                "Oh, dear," muttered Threepio as Artoo moaned loudly.

 

                "Remove these droids. Take them below and find some use for them."

 

                "Um, may I respectfully remind you you...your......uh..." Threepio stumbled over a title for the gangster. "Your Mightiness... That the Princess Leia expects us to return with your reply."

 

                "Then she will be disappointed," Jabba informed him.

 

                A huge green hand pushed him from behind and Threepio found himself being taken from the throne room by the Gamorrean who had accompanied them from the door. Artoo trundled along beside him. "Artoo, I have a bad feeling about this!"

 

*     *     *

 

                Chewbacca anxiously paced the dirt floor of his cell, his nostrils twitching in response to the stink of the place. He paused to glance out of the grill of the door and saw nothing in the dark corridor beyond. He turned away as a moan of anguish sounded from the neighbouring cell and he hunkered down in a corner to wait, trying to shut out the wretchedness of the place, the sounds of misery and pain from next door, the dark and the stench of captivity.

 

                This place offended his Wookiee sensibilities, his free wandering nature. This place snatched away a being's hope and replaced it with despair and fear - the very foods on which the Hutt gorged, satiating his lust with the pain of others. Chewbacca loathed him and he rued the day Han had accepted payment to run the Kessel system with an illicit shipment of spice. They had been forced to dump the cargo when they were stopped and boarded by the Imperial authorities in that sector, and by doing so they had indebted themselves to Jabba.

 

                And this was where it had finally gotten: they were now both prisoners of the Hutt - although Chewbacca reminded himself he was here willingly. He had readily accepted this position as his part in their attempt to free Han from his sleeping prison.

 

                He cocked his head, listening carefully as new sounds reached his ears, and he rose and quickly crossed the cell to the door. He peered through the grill and howled.

 

                "What?" A prim voice questioned as Threepio reached the door and his opticals turned to regard the imprisoned Wookiee. "Oh no, Chewbacca!"

 

                There was a shrill whistle from nearer the floor.

 

                Chewbacca bellowed again, and Artoo, hidden from the Wookiee's line of vision, hooted in response. There was a slight 'click' on the door.

 

                "What?" Threepio asked again, tilting to regard his counterpart. "Artoo, why...? Oh my...." He was roughly pushed forward by the following Gamorean, which then turned and snorted laughter at the Wookiee as it took a swat at the grill. It disappeared after the robots and Chewbacca was left alone once more in the silence of his cell where he waited, stifling his desire to move as soon as the droids had passed, forcing himself to settle and pace his actions. To hurry now would only result in failure and death.

 

*     *     *

 

                It was night, the party had gradually worked its way towards the inevitable conclusion and the palace slept in drunken contentment. Using the quiet, Boushh moved silently among the shadows as the Princess worked her way through the maze of tunnels which lay below the structure itself. She reached a closed door, paused and pulled her blaster.

 

*     *     *

 

 

               

                _He was falling, spiralling down into unknown depths. His senses reeling from the sudden shift in perception. First there had been nothing, now there was everything. His skin tingled, his muscles spasmed painfully, his ears rang from the sudden cacophony of sounds which surrounded him. And there was darkness, a pure and frightening night which closed over his eyes. He thrust his hands before him, afraid of hitting the hidden ground, and he was caught by steadying hands and laid down on a warm, grainy surface._

 

                What? _He tried to voice his confusion, tried to make his words heard among the ambiguous mutterings around him, but nothing escaped his lips and his question remained within._

_Then the first image arose from the ashes of his memory. The frozen picture of a young woman, grief and horror etched on her features as she gazed upon him._

_Leia!_

_*     *     *_

                Chewbacca moved back to the door and listened carefully. It was quiet beyond his cell, the atmosphere one of night and slumber. He quickly opened one of the pockets of his bandoleer and withdrew a small, flat piece of metal. He grinned and woofed quietly to himself: his captors had not placed any significance to the metal when they searched him, had failed to see any possible use for a small fragment and had dropped it back into the pouch. How ignorant these beings were, how predictable.

 

                He placed the metal against the door and gently movedit around the rusted surface. There was a slight scraping noise from the other side and Chewbacca eased the magnet up to the grill, pushed his finger through one of the slats and caught his prize. He pulled it in and let the small explosive fall into his palm.

 

*     *     *

 

                Leia listened carefully to the conversation beyond the door, trying to assess how many occupied the room. She gripped her blaster tightly, took a deep breath and punched the door release with keen determination. She stepped into the room.

*     *     *

 

                He struggled then, fought against the restraining shadows of his mind, against the jumble of noise and sensations, fought to release himself - and the first breath punched into him, tore at his starving lungs. It brought pain, it brought warm fetid air, but it cleared his system, swept the gauze from his mind and he gasped for more.

 

                "Leia!" The word was hoarse and choked, but it was whole and distinct. Leia standing with Chewbacca. Leia angry and indignant within the ice corridors of Hoth. Leia helping him up from the floor. Leia watching as he was lowered into the freezing pit on Bespin. "Leia!"

 

                "Easy, Han."

 

*     *     *

 

                The burst from the tiny device was barely audible, there was a brief flare, nothing more, and the lingering scent of smoke was soon swallowed by the greater stink of the detention area. Chewbacca placed his paws on the surface of the door and pushed. Freed from the locking mechanism by the explosion it easily shifted to the side. Curling his fingers around the door the Wookiee pulled until it had retracted to provide him with enough space to slip through. Once in the corridor he pushed the door back into place.

 

                Chewie paused for a moment, gauging his position, recalling the lay out of the palace from previous visits. Then he started down the corridor, following the path the droids had taken.

 

*     *     *

 

                "Up against the wall!" Boushh ordered in Standard. The Princess motioned with her gun, directing the three beings towards the back wall. Their hands were raised, they were unarmed and had been taken completely by surprise. Their eyes darted nervously to each other then back to the small Ubese before them. Leia could almost feel their confusion, their shock; no-one ever dared such a move within Jabba the Hutt's domain!

 

 

                "Sit down!" Leia directed.

 

*     *     *

 

                Han pulled back from the sound of the male voice. Its familiar tones retrieving more memories from his recent past: ones of friendship, of betrayal. Where was he? What was happening? Had the carbon freezing failed? Were they going to lift him from the floor and throw him back into the pit? There was a rustle of movement, of cloth, at his side and his ears tuned to the sound. If this was the freezing chamber where was the hiss of steam, where were the groans of machinery, the grunts of Ugnaughts? Why was he lying on dry ground and not the metal grating of the chamber's floor?

 

                "Lando?" He tried, gazing blindly towards the sounds, not wanting to trust the man he had called friend, but having no choice for the moment. "Where are we?"

 

                "Jabba's."

 

                "Han grimaced as his muscles spasmed once more. He shivered. Jabba... So Fett had delivered his prize, collected the bounty on his head. How long had he been here, how long had he been trapped within the block of carbonite and: "What the hell are you doing here?" He voiced this question, unable to keep the disbelief from his tones, his anger, confusion.

 

                "Keep your voice down! I came to get you out."

 

                "I can't see," Han confessed, his voice carrying a hint of panic.

 

                "It'll wear off," Lando quickly reassured him.

 

                "We cannot remain here," another warned,

 

                Han started at the words, again he pulled away, and again he fought with sightless eyes to focus on the speaker. He knew who this was, too. "Fett!"  Instinctively his hand moved to his side searching for an absent blaster.

 

                "He's with me," Lando hastily explained, glancing around the quiet hall fearful of discovery. Fett was right; they couldn't stay here. He grabbed hold of Solo and, with Fett taking Han's other arm, they lifted him from the floor. "I'll explain later."

 

*     *     *

 

                Chewbacca dropped the head he had wrenched from the droid's shoulders and stepped over its prone body. He could never tolerate 'holier than thou' robots and Eve Nine-De-Nine had triggered the wrong nerves. He glanced over at See Threepio - who had staggered up against a far wall when Chewbacca's temper had snapped - and grumbled out a quick question.

 

                "What?! Oh dear..." Threepio stumbled nervously, his opticals staring at Nine-De-Nine's still sparking neck. "They assigned him to the hangers, to Jabba's sail barge."

 

                The Wookiee immediately gestured for the golden droid to follow and disappeared from the room.

 

                Threepio shuffled forward and carefully shifted passed the headless droid, as though he were afraid to touch the metallic remains. "Oh my..."

 

*     *     *

 

                She shackled and gagged them, using fetters they had removed and stored from the remains of their unfortunate victims, and cloth torn from their own clothes. Satisfied they posed no danger to her, Leia turned her attention to the cage, and to the animal it held.

 

*     *     *

 

                Confusion shook him, questions surrounded him. He was unable to absorb all that was happening. There had been darkness, a suffocating fabric which had enclosed him and held him tight, pressed firmly against his face and, it first he had resisted, fought against it, strained to break his bonds. His dreams had brought terror, but his screams had been silent; his lungs unable to draw in the breath he required to vent his fears.

 

                Gradually his strength had been eroded and he had fallen back into the comfort of the cloth, he had learned to enjoy the touch of it against his skin. It was his guardian, his security, its deep silence was tranquil and alluring. His sleep had become restful, peaceful and his dreams had reflected that new found harmony.

 

                And now he had been thrown from his bed, thrust into the waking world and forced to recall all which had occurred prior to his sleep. They had escaped Hoth, fled to Bespin and somehow during the journey Leia had... Leia?

 

                The images returned: the invitation to dinner, the appearance of Vader and Fett, the torture, the explanation from Calrissian that they had been set up as a lure for Luke, the carbon freezing chamber and Leia standing with Chewbacca as he was positioned over the waiting pit.

 

**** _"I love you!"_

 

                The words were wrenched from her, words uttered with fear and despair, with the realisation they were too late. He had been unable to offer her comfort and that caused more pain than anything the Sith Lord could inflict. He could only tell her he had known her feelings all along, could only watch her as he was lowered down and as she was taken from him.

 

                "Where's Leia?" He asked, with sudden anxiousness as he was set upon his feet. Lando was here with Fett. It made no sense that his betrayer and his enemy be united to free him. Where was Leia? Where were those he called friends; his partner and Luke? Where were those who should be here? What events had passed since his incarceration?

 

                Calrissian shot a hasty glance to Fett before answering. "She's safe. She's with the Falcon."

 

                Safe! The Falcon! Wonderful words, secure words - if they were true. "Luke and Chewie?"

 

                There was hesitation, then: "Later."

 

                "Later?" He questioned, his fear rising, his anxiousness returning. What had happened to Luke and Chewbacca? He felt himself being carried forward, his weakened legs incapable of carrying him, his boots dragging on the floor. "What do you...?"

 

                There was a rumble of laughter, and his words died in his throat. Calrissian and Fett halted, and Han felt Lando stiffen with surprise. Fett released his arm and moved away. The mirth heightened as other voices joined the first; cackles and hoots of humour echoed around the chamber. Han did not require his eyes to tell him what had happened.

 

*     *     *

 

                It was quiet in the hanger bay and this unsettled the Wookiee. He crouched behind a landspeeder and peered over its chrome body into the vast hall. There did not appear to be any guards patrolling between the parked vehicles. There did not seem to be anyone on board the sail barge which towered over the lesser vessels. Was Jabba confident enough with his position as Gangster King to leave areas of his domain unguarded? Did he know of their plans to free Han and was allowing them to proceed until he decided to spring his surprise and thus provide himself with greater entertainment?

 

                Chewbacca could not shake off his doubts, his fears, but he could see no other way forwards but to continue with his given task. He glanced over at the doorway where Threepio remained hidden and murmured for him to come forward.

 

                "There doesn't seem to be anyone here," Threepio observed as he toddled into the hall.

 

                Chewbacca grumbled at him to be quiet and together they moved toward the sail barge. They were met almost immediately by a cheerful happy tooting.

 

                Chewbacca winced as the sounds echoed around the hanger.

 

                "Artoo!" Threepio greeted his counterpart, then fell silent as Chewbacca rumbled out several sentences. He turned to Artoo as the little droid trundled down the barge's ramp toward them. "Chewbacca is asking that you lower your sound synthesiser, and wants to know if you had any problems."

 

                Somewhat quieter Artoo blooped back with a negative response. His assignment had been completed without incident.

 

                Threepio relayed this to the Wookiee, who crouched before the Astro droid. Artoo opened one of his compartments and ejected two timer charges into his hands. He stood, told the droids to find Lando's landskimmer and move it to the exit of the hanger, and to remain there until he returned with the rest of the group. Then he turned and disappeared among the skiffs and speeders.

 

*     *     *

 

                Leia lifted the gun she had found and smiled broadly beneath the mask, thankful that Chewbacca's tales of his and Han's past dealings with the Hutt were proving fruitful. She loaded it with the cartridges stored beside it and approached the cage.

 

                It took three shots of the powerful tranquilliser before the rancor topped over and settled into the dirt. It began to snore.

 

*     *     *

 

                The laughter slowly petered out. Han shifted his feet uneasily and peered into the gloom of his blindness, trying to gauge just how much trouble he was in. He had started to believe it was possible that Lando and Fett could have joined forces to rescue him, begun to believe that he would be carried from this place back to the Falcon and back to Leia. It was an innocent belief - one worthy of Luke...

 

                _Where was he? Impossible, dumb rescue attempts were the kid's speciality._

****

                ...and he berated himself for falling for its charms. It was appear that he had been wakened merely to provide entertainment for the Hutt and his entourage.

 

                Calrissian watched as Fett moved to stand beside Jabba. The hunter folded his arms across his chest and regarded the gambler. Lando was sure that a smug, satisfied grin was spread over the man's features beneath the mask and, although he had expected something like this would happen, he had to suppress the surge of fury which coursed through him, had to fight the urge to leap the few metres which separated them and smash a clenched fist against Fett's bland facade.

 

                "I told you I could earn more from Jabba," Fett pleasantly explained.

 

                There was another rumble of laughter from Jabba. "It would appear that your run of bad luck has continued," he observed leaning forward as he spoke, enjoying the fleeting look of anger and terror which entered Calrissian's eyes.

 

                Lando shrugged nonchalantly, pushing away his fears. He had kept Fett busy, kept the bounty hunter away from the cells below and, fortune willing, the Wookiee was free and active. "It goes with the territory."

 

                Han had been listening closely, tilting his head this way and that, trying to place everyone, trying to figure out how many were present, trying to figure out the odds. It didn't sound promising; just himself and Lando against an unknown amount of Jabba's lackeys.

 

                "Solo!" Jabba roared, intentionally trying to intimidate the Corellian.

 

                In spite of himself Han Jumped, and turned his head in Jabba's direction.

 

                "There is a small matter of an unpaid debt."

 

                Han spoke as quickly and as smoothly as he could under the circumstances. "Look Jabba, I was just on my way to pay you back, when I got a little side tracked. It's not my fault." He tried to sound innocent.

 

                "It's too late for excuses, Solo," Jabba informed him. "You may have been a good smuggler, but you have been away for too long. Others have taken your place. Even in Carbonite you had your uses, but awake you are redundant - useful only as Bantha fodder."

 

                There was a chorus of cackles and giggles at this.

 

                "Look Jabba..." Han desperately began again.

 

                "The Rancor!" Jabba announced.

 

                Lando and Han were grabbed and carried across the throne room. They were stood before Jabba's empty dais, stood over the trap door to the rancor's pit. Han's mind swooned with horror; he had seen this creature, watched with disgust in the past as it tore and fed upon those unfortunates who had been dropped into its lair. He was blind, helpless and an easy meal for the beast. He was glad when Calrissian took his arm, somehow it was comforting to know he would not be dying alone.

 

                Jabba slithered upon his throne, and his courtiers settled around him. He slobbered and leered for several moments prolonging the execution. Then he lifted his hand and spat: "Boscka!"

 

                Han couldn't stop the cry which tore from his throat as he fell, as he slipped down the chute into the Rancor pit, as he thudded into the ground. He rolled and scrambled to his feet as Lando arrived beside him with a grunt. Roars and cheers of delight echoed from above as he heard the familiar shriek of metal against metal as the door lifted to release the creature.

 

                He backed away from the sound waiting for the bellow of outrage from the Rancor as it announced its presence to its intended victims.

 

                Lando took his arm once more. "Come on!"

 

                _Come on?!_ Han couldn't understand Calrissian's words, couldn't understand why the man was pulling him toward the opening door instead of away. The crowd laughed and jeered above them as he dug his heels into the dirt, resisting Lando's lead, but he was tired, weak and disorientated, and he found himself being inexorably pulled forward.

 

                The door ceased its squealing, the crowd watching overhead quietened, and Han heard the sound of running footsteps approach them. There was no roar from the Rancor, no reaching claws to grab them. Instead a small hand was placed on his other arm...

 

                _Luke?_

 

                ...and he found himself being carried between two.

 

                It was then all hell broke loose above them.

 

                There was a bellow of indignation and outrage from Jabba, a chorus of shrieks and howls of surprise followed by a flurry of blaster fire between the grills of the pit cover. The beings split and ran for the exit tunnels searching for a way down to the Rancor pit below to reach the escaping trio.

 

                The first explosion shook the palace, brought down tons of rock upon those unfortunate to have been in the tunnels at the time. The blast effectively sealed off that exit. The angered creatures turned direction heading for the dungeon area and the second burst hit them.

 

*     *     *

 

                Chewbacca sprinted back through the door to the hanger with the dust from the explosions blowing at his back. He ducked to the side, pressed his body against the wall and waited. If his diversions had worked then Calrissian and the Princess should be arriving within moments.

 

*     *     *

 

                The floor shook below them and Han's legs buckled. Lando and Boushh caught him, pulled him up and set him on his feet.

 

                "Not far!" Lando gasped from exertion. There was an ominous rumble from deep within the palace, dust and tiny splinters of rock pattered down on their heads. The ground rippled beneath their feet. "Come on!"

 

                Han stumbled between them, moving his weakened legs as quickly as he could, then all he sensed was a sudden shift in atmosphere, a feeling on immense space. "Where?" He tried to ask Lando, then he was caught in a tight grip, torn from his helpers and lifted from the floor. Panic was his initial reaction: he was caught, they had him, it was the Rancor! The howl of some mad creature echoed around his sensitive ears and the noise somehow penetrated the cloud of confusion which still gripped him. "Chewie?!"

 

                Strong, furred arms surrounded him, embraced him and he felt safe, he took comfort from Chewbacca's familiar presence, felt a section of his life slide back into place.

 

                Leia watched the two, her own arms aching to hold her smuggler. She removed the Boushh helmet, let it fall to the floor and stepped forward.

 

                There was a clamour of muted voices from beyond the hanger.

 

                "There's no time for that!" Lando barked, peering through the door and out into the darkened tunnel. "They've got through!" Hr closed the door, and Leia sealed the lock with a blast from her gun.

 

                They ran through the hanger dodged passed parked speeders and skiffs, ducked under starship foils and slowed only when they reached Lando's landskimmer. Lando couldn't suppress his whoop of triumph as he heard its engine burst into life, as he saw the droids sitting within it waiting for them.

 

                "We've made it!"

 

                Boba Fett stepped out from behind a neighbouring ship.

 

                Chewbacca bellowed with fury, pulled Han back. Leia slipped her arm around the Corellian's body. Another tremble ran through the ground , dust fell from the ceiling hundreds of metres above. It appeared that the explosives planted by Chewbacca had damaged more than just the tunnels.

 

                "Congratulations, Calrissian," Fett greeted. He walked towards them, stood before the skimmer blocking their path to the escape vehicle. "You almost had me fooled at times. Almost." The helmeted head turned to Leia and he stooped in a mocking bow. "Your Highness, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance once more. Jabba should pay a healthy amount for your skin, since he showed so much interest in it."

 

                "Highness?" Han echoed, his voice catching with a blend of surprise, delight and horror. Leia was here, with him? Leia was in the same danger as he? "Leia?"

 

                "I'm here," she told him quietly, and he pulled her closer to him, as though he could protect her from whatever Fett had planned simply by holding her.

 

                A dull banging echoed around the cavernous hanger, muffled shrieks and cries drifted through from the mob outside.

 

                "The lynching party," Fett observed.

 

                The floor shuddered under them and there was an ear splitting cracking of rock. They all involuntarily glanced toward the roof of the hanger: where a large fault now appeared running through the rock. There was a sudden change in pitch from the waiting skimmer's engine and the vehicle lurched forwards striking the off-guard Fett below the wait and he was thrown into Chewbacca's arms. Leia turned away at the sickening crunch and dull thud as the Wookiee twisted the hunter's neck and let his body drop.

 

                The canopy of the skimmer popped open.

 

                "...believe you did that!" Threepio's voice screeched at his counterpart. There was a tooted, humble reply from Artoo. "No, I didn't have it in gear and,...Oh! Captain Solo! It's so good to see you again!"

 

                There was a blast from the other side of the hanger, a cry of voices and the clamour of running footsteps. Jabba's commanding tones were clear above the rest.

 

                "Move over, Threepio," Han ordered him by way of reply as they all piled into the skimmer. The canopy closed over them as Artoo edged the craft forward toward the huge doors of the hanger. There was a deep rumble, the ground pitched and heaved and Leia clutched Han tightly, holding her breath as she watched the bay doors slowly slide to the side, as the sunlight of Tatooine spilled into the darkness of Jabb's domain.

 

                The skimmer pitched forward over the undulating ground, then it shot into the desert.

 

                The massive doors swung shut after them. Those in the hanger stumbled over heaving dirt, glanced hesitantly around themselves as the rumbling in the palace grew to unbearable levels. They ran to their own craft, revved the engines in eager anticipation of escaping the collapsing structure, of the coming chase as they raced after those responsible. The sail barge rose among them and the vehicles converged on the doors.

 

                The doors remained closed, obeying the command given to them by Artoo Detoo.

 

                And pandemonium was loosed within the hanger as panic danced among the creatures crowded at the doors. They ran from their craft, wailed and beat upon the dull metallic surfaces, fought and pushed at each other in futile attempts to move the massive closures. There was another, final, loud crack, the roar of rock caving in, the rush of fire as the packed vehicles exploded, and Jabba's carefully crafted home and Empire sank into the desert landscape.

 

*     *     *

 

                Han sat in the relative silence of the cockpit, listening to the pulsing hum of the freighter's engines, to the ticking of the guidance systems as they monitored the ship's path, and he stared out of the cockpit window as yet unable to see the twisting lights of hyperspace but taking comfort from their presence nonetheless. This place was familiar, this place was home and he was thankful to be here; thankful to be free from enforced sleep, that he still had his life, that he had a group of friends willing to risk their own lives for him, and that he had Leia.

 

                He smiled, recalling the moment the hatch of the Falcon had sealed them off from the desert, when he had finally been able to wrap his arms around her slight body and draw her close enough to kiss. She, too, had risked all for him - had even taken time out from her rebellion - and that realisation made him humble, gave him an inner sense of peace, and yet...

 

                There was something missing, _someone_ missing, someone who's absence from the group left a stark and glaring gap, one that which had begged to be explained once events had settled.

 

                _"Where's Luke?" He asked once he had fastened his shirt. He sat on his bunk and reached for his boots, listening to Leia fussing around him. His question stopped her. And he could sense her reluctance, her hesitancy and grief, so he answered for her with the only explanation he could think off. "Vader?"_

_"Yes."_

_And he felt strangely calm at the confirmation. "Carbonite?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Do they still have him?"_

_"I'm not sure....they had a broadcast and..."_

_Han frowned, she sounded confused, unsure; they either still had him or they didn't. "Is he dead?"_

_"I....yes."_

_"Tell me."_

****

                And she did tell him. She told him about their flight from Bespin, Luke's capture and public execution, her visit to the Lars homestead and what she learned there. For his part he had said nothing, just listened, just took her into his arms and held her as she grieved for a brother lost.

 

                The events of the day had tired the Princess and her weeping had soon ceased as she gradually fell asleep. Han gently extricated himself from her embrace and laid her upon the coverlet of his bunk. He could not sleep, felt as though the past few months in carbonite had robbed him of the ability. His mind was active, his body restless, and so he had left his cabin, made himself a warm cup of caffin and had worked his way through the ship to the cockpit.

 

                _"Be careful"_

_"You, too."_

 

                Han took a sip from the steaming cup as his last, brief, exchange of words with Luke returned. They had been simple words, they had been expressions of friendship, they had been the shields behind which they both hid, unable to convey their true feelings or what they both knew the words meant.

 

                _What did they mean?_

 

                Han tried to shrug off his own question, his own recollections of the parting and the emotions he had experienced when he watched Luke walk away towards his waiting squad.

 

                _"Be careful."_

_"You, too."_

****

                They had been saying goodbye.

 

                He sipped again at the cup. Something didn't make sense, dammit! Something was there at the back of his skull screaming it out, he was just too deaf - or too blind - to hear it. The image of Luke standing below him wearing the orange flight suit, his helmet cradled under his arm, was so damned clear it couldn't belong to a dead man!

 

                _"Vader wants us all dead."_

_"He doesn't want you at all! He's after someone called...ah...Skywalker."_

****

"Luke," Han repeated the name, the word he had followed Lando's announcement with back on Bespin. "Luke."

 

                _"He's set a trap for him."_

_"And we're the bait."_

 

                Vader had tested the carbonite on him, had wanted it to freeze a subject and see if that person could survive. Then he had sprung the trap on the kid. Why go to all that trouble if he was going to kill Luke eventually? Why did Vader place so much significance on a farm kid turned rebel hero? Why the carbonite instead of a pair of binders? Why had Leia been so hesitant to speak? Why had she sounded so unsure when she had pronounced him dead? Why....?

 

                _"He was my brother, Han. My twin. And we never knew. Never had the chance...to know. I don't know why they separated us. Maybe....maybe they thought it was too dangerous to keep two Jedi children together. I guess I'll never know now...."_

****

And there it was. Jedi. That word, that name which had condemned so many. Luke had drawn attention to himself, had brought the wrath of the Empire down on his head, but... The Sith Lord had wanted him alive!

 

                _Alive!_

 

                Han rested his head against the back of the pilots chair and stared blindly ahead, but his mind was clear, his inner vision feeding him with sickening realisation. Vader wouldn't kill Luke, not when he had a gift which could be exploited, not when he possessed an innocence which begged corruption.

 

                "Ah, kid. No," his denial was a whisper, an expression of grief, of fear for a friend astray. "No...."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Distant Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Echoes from the past return to haunt the younger Lord Vader...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Previous disclaimers apply....

 

Previously published in "Millennium" 2001 (but written before 1999)

 

  
**Distant Echoes**                                       

            With a sigh he lay back onto his bed, drew the ragged blanket across his body and closed his eyes. He was tired, so very tired, worn down by a life time of service, fatigued by the demands made upon his person and his spirit. He was prepared for his final journey, his death, looking forward to the peace, to the consuming calm of the Force. So why then was he so disturbed, why had he lingered in this life, fought these last few months to cling to the shreds of vitality he still possessed when he could so easily have tossed them aside and become part of the power to which he had dedicated his existence.

 

                The answer to his questions was clear and painful. He had failed. He had failed to guide the footsteps of his last pupil, had not realised, or had chosen to ignore, the growing need of the boy to know his background, to be told the truth about his sire, and had thus left the youth vulnerable to the violent assault of the Dark Side.

 

                And now he was lost.

 

                They had begged Luke not to leave, blamed him for being reckless, accused him of acting on impulse, for not thinking events through, for refusing to see the repercussions of his actions. He smiled with self scorn at these thoughts: who should truly be blamed for failure? The child or his teachers? Who truly denied the possible outcomes of their choices?

 

                Now, on his death bed, he saw their faults, saw the pride within themselves and grieved for the youth who had hurried away to save his friends only to suffer in their stead. His act of selflessness, of good, had lead him to darkness because his tutors had not taught him what he truly required.

 

                And so, Yoda, held fast to life and had watched as the boy succumbed to his father, as the manipulations of the Emperor razed Luke's defences, as they had gorged themselves on his innocence and light. That was his punishment for failure, for pride, and it was a painful lesson to realise his own blindness had wiped out the Jedi and doomed the Galaxy.

 

                _There is another._

 

                Yes, there was the girl. There was her light, her life which still burned. He could feel her now, could sense her gentle pulse within the Force. But, it was too late. There was no one left to open her, no one strong enough to teach her. She was alone, and it was best she remain hidden and live out her life in ignorance, than face the trials which an awareness of her powers would bring.

 

                The girl...

 

                _Fingers scrap at sand. A small tool pops up a metal plate. Hands reach down and pluck out documents and holographs from a hidden past..._

_...mother. brother. Luke. no...._

 

                ...And he opened his eyes, stared at the low roof of his dwelling as unfamiliar fear and panic punched through ages old defences. No! This cannot be! He struggled to sit up, struggled to call out, but he had no strength, that in which he prided himself was gone. She knew!  The girl knew! Had somehow stumbled across her tragic background and...

 

                He quelled the feelings, pushed away the mocking laughter of the Dark Side, dismissed the fear back to the shadows and closed his eyes once more. Calmly he sought out her living presence and smiled with contentment and relief. She was sleeping now, her dreams tranquil, peaceful, her thoughts ones of future happiness and love. Her abilities were dormant, hardly realised, briefly considered, barely believed...

 

                _I'm Jedi?_

 

                Perhaps they would remain so. It was a slim hope, but it gave him some peace of mind, eased his guilt. Perhaps the girl would survive unknown, perhaps some of their choices would prove to be the correct ones, perhaps their failures would be left incomplete and, perhaps, her presence within the Force would keep full darkness at bay and offer the galaxy some light for future generations.

 

                He relaxed, felt his muscles loosen, heard his own breathing as it grew erratic and shallow. He drew away from the slumbering princess leaving his mind open and empty...

               

                It came upon him slowly, gradually pulling him into its strength, its wholeness. It was an awareness that he had never thought possible, it was a plethora of emotions that no one being could endure - it was life! And in the brief instant of his death, as he passed from mortal to immortal, he brushed one more mind and gasped at what he found there....

 

 

 

                Sohn Vader glanced up, stared blankly at the view port of his quarters as he tried to grasp the sudden, fleeting sensation which had interrupted his meditation. He chased after it, reached out and was left only with a strand of astonishment, a thread of deep sadness, then nothing. Where there had been something...

 

                _...familiar..._

****

...there was emptiness. Where there had been a presence...

****

**** _... of strength, of knowledge, of security..._

****

...there was a void, and he was left grieving for a loss he did not understand. He frowned with confusion and closed his eyes attempting to draw the Force to him, attempting to return to the sanctuary it offered, attempting to find his answers within its beckoning folds.

 

                _"Concentrate. Feel the Force flow. Calm, yes."_

****

The words uttered to a boy now dead, returned with clarity, echoed around him with keen comprehension and he hung his head in pain.

 

                "Yoda..." The whispered name was barely audible, an acknowledgement of the Jedi's passing and of his own predicament. He was truly alone now, so terribly alone. And lost, stumbling down a path he never wanted to tread, with no one left to guide him. No one except...

 

                His father's trailing fingers caressed the edge of his emotions, attempted to dig deeper to find some cause within his son for the sudden shift amid the Force. Vader knew something of importance has occurred - Sohn could feel his sire's confusion, could feel his curiosity, his lack of understanding. How pleasing it felt to have something, to know something, his father did not possess. How pleasing was the power, however minute, that knowledge gifted him.

 

                But Vader could penetrate further, could wrench it from him if he so desired and Sohn steeled himself for the battle. However, it did not come, and Vader withdrew allowing Sohn bitter comfort with his prize. And this withdrawal puzzled Sohn, heightened his misapprehension. Lately his father had become preoccupied, was less of a presence, allowed his son more freedom of movement. It wasn't that he had begun to trust Sohn - that would never exist between them - it was as though Sohn had taken second place to something else, and while this brought relief to the Younger Lord, it also brought perplexity and a need to understand why.

 

                It was as though the Dark Lord was anxious, worried. As though some weight rested within his bulk which he could not expel.

 

                There was a muted chime from the com unit behind him.

 

                "Yes?" he hissed, his voice automatically activated the device.

 

                "My Lord Commander, the Lord Vader wishes your presence on the bridge."

 

                Sohn smiled, turned again to the view port and watched as the Star Destroyer emerged from lightspeed, as the welcome black of space filled the heavens beyond. Perhaps there would be answers soon.

 

 

 

                Darth Vader could sense his son's intrigue long before the boy stepped onto the bridge. He had felt it the moment he had withdrawn without struggle from Sohn's emotions, had felt it heighten when his presence was requested and he coaxed it, teased it, by remaining silent and introspective until Sohn stood quietly behind his back. He waited, staring out at the vacuum for endless moments, making his son more curious, making the tension between them tighter, sweeter.

 

                At last Sohn, as impatient as ever, could stand it no longer. He threw Admiral Piett a frustrated glance as he spoke. "You wished to see me father."

 

                Piett swallowed nervously beside the Dark Lord as the boy broke the clinging quiet.

 

                 Vader turned around, stepped aside, appearing unperturbed by the Commander's breach of protocol. "No, but I wish you to see something."

 

                Sohn's eyes trailed to the huge viewing window and, for once, he was relieved to be wearing his helmet and mask for it hid the surprise and horror which immediately widened his eyes and drained the blood from his face. He clenched his fists, struggled to control the myriad of feelings which swelled within him, each of which cried out to be recognised and expressed. He held firm, controlled himself, but he could not halt the smile which curled his lips as one voice from his past broke through to echo in his thoughts. It was the only one which seemed to sum up this sight.

 

                _"Look at the size of that thing!"_

 

                It was the Death Star. Or rather, it was a new Death Star, looking larger, perhaps more powerful, than the first which he had destroyed so many years before...

 

                _Me? Was that me?_

 

                ...and yet it was not complete. He could see its twisting superstructure, could see lights flickering within its cavernous belly as men worked, could see the circular indentation of its weapon, and as he looked Wedge Antilles' gasp ricocheted on. Sohn's smile grew.

 

                "You find something amusing, Commander?" Vader rumbled, unable to keep the choler from his voice. This was not the reaction he had expected.

 

                Sohn turned to regard the Dark Lord, shot another glance to Piett who now stood slightly behind Vader. He almost expected the Admiral to start pulling faces, as Biggs used to do behind his Uncle Owen's back when they were caught coming home late from Tosche Station, and he had to choke back his laughter, his sudden adolescent feelings. It was a ridiculous thought in a ridiculous situation, but how could they make the same mistake twice?

 

                He swallowed, tried to wipe the smile from his face, tried to temper the surge of emotions and memories which belonged to another person, a youth they had tried to kill but who refused to lie still. Now was not the time. "Is this wise, father?" He gestured to the battle station beyond.

 

                "You would question the Emperor's wisdom?" Vader wanted to know, putting the emphasis on "Emperor".

 

                And, again he had to bite back his immediate response, had to fight the thoughts from forming. "Never, my Lord," he lied, and he knew his father heard the falseness of his words. "However, the rebellion..."

 

                "Are already massing their fleet," Vader informed him.

 

                "They have the schematics?"

 

                "Yes."

 

                The word chilled him, caused a moment of panic to beat within him...

 

                _...too soon.....too soon..._

 

                ...but he stilled it, levelled his breathing and stared at the Death Star, at the ships which orbited the moon, as understanding dawned. "It's a trap." He stated coolly.

 

                "Which has yet to be baited."

 

                "With what?" Wasn't the battle station enough? Wouldn't the remembered threat of the first and the remains of Alderaan provide enough of a lure to the Alliance? Wouldn't they rally together, wouldn't they... But the fleet, the entire fleet? What could draw them out so eloquently, what could drive them into such a massed attack?

 

                "The Emperor himself." Vader told him.

 

                And Sohn could here the satisfaction in his father's voice, the respect and fear, and the loathing. But, there was more, there was an edge, an indefinable...something. It was almost like... He looked at Vader, looked up, lowered his guard a little and found...hope?

 

                It was a confusing moment, a moment charged with distorted emotions. That he should feel such a longing from such an unlikely source. That such a feeling could still exist within that dark place. It had been so long since he had felt, had held, such a fragment of light himself. So long since he had hope. "Father?" he questioned, braving a rejection, a scathing reprimand, but he had to know more, he had to find out if...

 

                "Leave us, Admiral," Vader turned his back on Piett, on Sohn, turned his attention to the activity beyond the viewing window.

 

                "Sir," Piett bowed. "Commander."

 

                "Sir," Sohn responded, giving Piett the respect his rank deserved even though the man himself was beneath him.

 

                There was silence between the two, although this time Sohn quelled his impatience and waited for his father to speak.

 

                "Even now, the Emperor fears you." Vader turned from the viewing port to regard his son.

 

                "I know, father," Sohn responded, for of course it was true. He had known, had always known. Even during those months of pain, even when he had reached out in agony toward that ancient, gnarled man and pleaded for the torture to stop, he had felt Palpatine's fear. Felt it tremble beneath the man's malevolence, felt it even as it was guarded protectively within a blackened soul and now, more than ever, its existence pleased him, gave him a foundation on which he could build - had been building.

 

                "You could destroy him."

 

                Destroy? It was a word he had dared not think of, not yet. It was a word which nurtured power. A word, now uttered aloud, which threw open possibilities, conjured up temptations. The thought of destruction, the image of Palptine's end and the beginning of his freedom made him giddy with desire. His finger tips could almost touch the elusive fantasy, and his palms itched to hold his own fate. It was so clear, it could be done. He was the younger, the stronger, the one who possessed the greater potential. It could be done...

 

                ...And yet. What was behind Vader's words, his unspoken suggestions? What was it Sohn could sense within his father? A feeling, a sense, a growing difference within the Dark Lord. His father's words were treason. His father's words, if overheard and reported by a brave soul, would mean death for them both. Was this a trick to test his allegiance at this critical time? Were they sounding him out for latent Alliance loyalty? But, that peculiar shimmer of light he had caught from the elder man, that fleeting flicker of hope had not been for the dream of a triumphant Empire. It had been for...

 

                No! He could not think this way. Could not allow himself the luxury of old dreams, could not bear to experience the innocent beliefs of a lonely youth. His father was the man who stood before him, and not the heroic figure who had spawned past aspirations. His hand was being forced to move quicker, to deal with situations he had not yet foreseen. He could not be hampered by futile hope.

 

                "That is not my place," he coldly informed Vader. He looked back towards the Death Star, looked back at the reaching superstructure. There was too much happening here, too much to comprehend just yet, too many fibres of his painfully crafted rope were unravelling, and too much was being revealed. He had to be sure of himself, only himself. He would not be pulled again into another's designs, he would not be guilelessly lead by the hand to accept someone else's ambitions. He had his own.

 

                "Indeed," Vader assented, his voice appeared to hold an edge of pleasure. He turned from Sohn, a movement his son recognised. It was the end of a lesson, of a test. And he was about to be dismissed. "Your squad is being transferred to the battle station. You are to join them."

 

                "As you wish, my Lord," Sohn bowed, smothered his relief at the dismissal, at the opportunity to put some distance between himself and his father and the confusion their exchange had caused. He turned on his heels and left the bridge.

 

                With his back to the activity on the bridge, Darth Vader's attention appeared focused on the Death Star the destroyer was gradually approaching. He appeared calm, appeared as self assured as always, comfortable with the control and power he possessed. There was no outward sign or hint of the doubts and conflicts which flared within him as soon as his son exited the bridge, and withdrew his probing curiosity.

 

 

 

                The battle stations' dimensions rapidly grew to fill the canopy of the T.I.E fighter, blocking out the stars and the empty darkness of space. Sohn ran his eyes over the readouts of the instruments before him. Then he turned his eyes back to the metallic lines of the Death Star.

 

                _"Lock S-foils in attack positions."_

 

                Sohn grimaced as the voice of the dead man - Red leader, Dave....something - entered his mind unexpectedly and unwanted. He shrugged it off, forced his attention forward.

 

                _"Pull in! Luke...pull in!"_

 

                Biggs.

 

                _"Hurry, Luke, they're coming in much faster this time. I can't hold them!"_

 

                Biggs. His friend.

 

                _"Hurry up, Luke!.........Wait!"_

 

                His dead friend.

 

                The Death Star hanger bays were discernible now. Slits of light cut in the greyness of the hull. "Control, Executor First Squad on approach."

 

                "We have you, first squad," the controller's voice filtered over the com. "Bay twelve has been designated for you, sir."

 

                Nearer still. The man made landscape of the station was visible; ridges and trenches, open superstructure in the process of being welded closed, gun turrets and towers.

 

                _"What about that tower?"_

 

                Antilles again. Wedge, whose life he had recently spared in battle. A battle which earned him a commendation despite his failure to fulfil his orders. A failure for which he was privately punished even as he was publicly acclaimed. The award ceremony was for the benefit of propaganda. Staged. Acted. Faked. The same as Skywalker's execution.

 

                _Not dead._

 

                The two words were thrown up from deep within, like a hand of a drowning victim reaching up to grasp at empty air in the hope of finding a firm hold. He was tempted to offer that hold, tempted to stretch into the depths and haul the words back. But he stilled himself and let them sink. Silencing the meaning behind them, silencing the thoughts and feelings which had risen with them. Pushing down the urgency, the panic, the idea that everything was being wrenched from his control, that fate was a more powerful agent than he had anticipated.

 

                _"You're all clear kid..."_

 

                Han.

 

                _"...Now lets blow this thing and go home!"_

 

                The Death Star. It had been a surprise. A horrific reminder of the past for which he had been unprepared. And it was a reminder for others. Others, who even now, would come to fight this monstrosity. And, _they_ would come. Of all the people in the Alliance, it would be them: the ones who had faced this terror before, and won.

 

                A thrill of anticipation shivered through him, his powers surged forward and he caressed, coaxed the tremor as the wave reached its climax. They would come, the last bastions of his past, the ones he loved and whose memories he cherished still - though he would refute it, renounce them as he had his identity. Perhaps this was his test after all, perhaps this was to be his confrontation and final battle. Then, perhaps, instead of being his enemy, fate was being his ally and had merely opened his eyes to future possibilities. If he used this unexpected situation he could turn it to his advantage. If he remained calm, and allowed nothing more to disconcert him he could...

 

                The rush ebbed, waned. The Force was quiet, its currents hidden beneath a placid surface.

 

                Sohn Vader guided his craft into the fighter docking bay. Manoeuvred it into position and set it down. His fingers ran over the console and the engine whined and died. Silence within the cockpit. He slumped back, gazing unseeing at the activity in the hanger.  

 

               

 

               

 


	8. An Unknown Quantity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedge Antilles is troubled by his belief that the son of Vader seems terribly familiar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All Previous Disclaimers apply.

**An Unknown Quantity**

****

                                                                                               

              The computer generated image of the Death Star disintegrated in a burst of light. Commander Wedge Antilles blinked, frowned, and lifted his eyes to regard the bland white ceiling as General Madine stepped forward and took over the briefing from Admiral Ackbar. Wedge tried to listen, tried to pay attention as the General outlined the ground assault for those assembled. However, Madine's voice was lost to Wedge - he knew the plan of operation backward, had been over the attack patterns countless times and, as the leader of Red Flight, he had been directly involved in the laying out of his squads role in the whole affair.

 

                _Red Flight. Red Leader._

 

                It should have been a fulfilling moment. He had been called to the command staff. Greeted warmly as he stood to attention before the Admiral, the General and Mon Mothma; the Princess Leia had sat to one side, regarding him with a soft smile and hooded eyes. He had half expected a dressing down, a scathing reprimand and demands to know what the hell he had been doing, or not doing, while the pilots of Rogue Squad were massacred around him. Instead they had been understanding, almost compassionate, and they had offered him the position of Red Leader.

 

                It should have been a fulfilling moment. He had accepted, been welcomed by the other flight leaders and found himself thrust into the middle of planning an attack on a second Death Star. It was a crazy moment, mad scurrying thoughts had scampered through his mind like excited rodents, noses twitching, bodies poised and bristling to flee at the first scent of danger, the first sign of impending sanity. Red Leader. Another Death Star.

 

                The reality had hit him later when he had reached his quarters.

 

                Red Leader.

 

                And with reality came empty realisation. He had achieved his goal, stepped up the promotional ladder, but was left numbed and disheartened as he slipped his feet into the cooled shoes of dead men.; Dreis lost at Yavin. Narra, the last to hold the title of Red Leader before Hoth, before the squad was broken in two and handed the call signs of 'Renegade' and 'Rogue'. The first was lost to a man above Derra IV, the latter took heavy losses on Hoth and was eventually wiped out when ambushed near the red gas cloud in the Hasthaal system. He had been the only survivor, the only one who escaped...

 

                _...the only one allowed to escape..._

 

                He dismissed the thought, cast it aside as he had done countless other times since the event. And, like those other times, he knew it would resurface to tease him with harrowing images, echoing screams of terrorised men, and a disturbing impression that he had known the lead T.I.E pilot, had recognised the skill, the manoeuvres, the feeling of familiarity, and then when the T.I.E had danced around his ship it...               

 

                No, he would not think this way, he would not remember the death of his old squad, would not recount the battle and the unsettled feelings it had left him with like some grainy residue. No, he had to focus his thoughts and energies to the coming attack, to this other Death Star.

 

                He drew his attention back to the briefing, glanced around at those assembled, unable to halt the comparison between this meeting and the one which had taken place on Yavin IV. This was almost leisurely in its urgency. Carefully planned, the execution plotted in precise, meticulous fashion. The other, the one from three years ago, had been thrown together in haste, in panic, and no-one really knew what it was they were up against. Then they had to skim the surface, nick the skin and aim at the weakest fontanelle of the Empire's infant battle station. Now, they were to fly into its very heart.

 

                The ancient stone of the Massassi base had been replaced by metal, by the gleaming interior of the Mon Calamari ship; the heat and humidity of the jungle beyond was now the freezing vacuum of deep space. The old faces were gone, many Yavin veterans dead, or scattered about the Alliance. And of course, he was the only original fighter pilot left, the only one who had any true idea of what it was they were about to attempt, the ferociousness they were calmly plotting to enter.

 

                Antilles' wandering gaze turned to regard the Corellian pilot sitting beside a quiet grave-faced Princess Leia, and he smiled to himself with guilt tinged chiding. Perhaps his thoughts were not exactly correct, nor entirely fair to three others within the room. The pilot, the Princess and the Wookiee. They knew, they understood at least some of his feelings, had been there at Yavin when the events took place. The Corellian had returned as the battle was drawing to a close, the rebels down to having a single X-Wing in the trench. Their last shot, their last hope. Solo had saved Skywalker's ass, had given him cover in the final moments and allowed the newcomer to the Rebellion extra seconds with which to make his shot.

 

                Yavin was saved. The Alliance given renewed life and new heroes. And so, here they were again - full circle. Except, one of the heroes was missing, dead, leaving a hollow, telling gap for those who had come to know him and call him 'friend'. It had been difficult taking over Rogue Flight, and he'd told himself it was only temporary, until Luke showed up again from wherever he'd lost himself.

 

                Then the Millennium Falcon had returned with the Princess and Chewbacca, and a stranger called Calrissian. They said Solo was in the hands of a Bounty Hunter, said Luke had turned up on Bespin, said they had no idea what had happened to him. And so they had waited for news. Wedge took lead of Rogue, run them through their paces as they waited their commander's return.

 

                Then the Imperial broadcast had come through live. The headline of the day telling how Skywalker had been captured weeks before, how he'd confessed his crimes, how he'd divulged important information. Then Luke had been dragged out and shot before their eyes, and Wedge, in that instant, became Luke's successor and Rogue Flight's permanent commander.

 

                The Alliance had waited for the repercussions, had expected Imperial Forces to flood down upon supporters. They had evacuated bases Luke had known of, they had moved the growing Fleet from the rendezvous point, doubled the security around prominent Alliance figures, changed access codes.

 

                Nothing happened. And those who had known Luke closely had smiled to themselves with sadness, with pride and with the knowledge of Luke's courage and loyalty. The Imperials had lied, and Luke's memory was untarnished.

 

                The Imperials had lied. If they had lied about Luke's so called confession, if they had lied about his information, then, perhaps they had lied about...

 

                Wedge took in a light breath, let it out and turned away from the group and caught the eye of the Princess. He was unsettled by his thoughts, unsettled by Leia's sudden attention, unsettled by the battle of Hasthaal and his escape from the massacre. Dammit, they let him go.....

 

                _No._ He _let you go._

 

                She was still looking at him. Her gaze strong and inquisitive, and Wedge broke contact, shifted on his feet, squirmed, not understanding why he was suddenly eager for the briefing to end so he could get out of this room, out of this abruptly suffocating atmosphere.

 

                "The advance parties depart at thirteen hundred hours," Madine was saying. "Final preparations for the fleet's departure also begins then. Thank you for your attention."

 

                The audience began to break up. Each member heading off for their own department, their own duties. Wedge turned on his heel, about to head for the nearest exit, as Mon Mothma stepped forward again.

 

                "Will the team and squad leaders please remain for a moment." It was an order given as a request.

 

                Wedge reluctantly turned back as the majority of Alliance personnel left the room. He seated himself and stared with blank anxiousness at the hologram generator. They would not have been asked to remain if something had not gone wrong, or had the potential to go wrong. He could feel the tension in the air tighten and he risked a glance at the Princess. She was still with her group, but her eyes were turned forward, dark with her own worries. The Corellian had shifted closer to her. The Wookiee, standing, towered over them. Gold Leader, Lando Calrissian, stood slightly to the side watching Mon Mothma with intense interest. Others, including Green Leader, Blue Leader and Grey Leader, were scattered loosely about the seating area.

 

                "We have come across some curious information," she told them calmly, but Wedge thought he could detect the stress within the tones of her voice. "The Empire recently held a medal ceremony, congratulating the commander of the TIE squad which attacked Rogue Flight in the Hasthaal system."

 

                Wedge started at this. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he listened, anticipating the disclosure of his antagonist's name.

 

                "In reality the event was staged to introduce this person to the Galaxy, to heighten the fear of the populace." She nodded towards Madine who activated the viewing screens behind the stately woman. A hazy image appeared, a muted commentators voice rose from the speakers.

 

                "We intercepted this broadcast before it could reach the fleet," Mon Mothma continued and then explained. "We wished to share the knowledge with you first, before disclosing it."

 

                The pictures grew brighter, sharpened, and those within the briefing instantly recognised Dark Vader's bulk. The Dark Lord was standing with other Imperial dignitaries upon a raised dais. Troops and pilots lined both sides of a huge hanger bay. TIE fighters and bombers hung from the ceiling, seeming to loom over the occasion with malignant intent. And, a lone black garbed and helmeted figure strode confidently through the corridor of soldiers towards the men on the dais.

 

                It was, Wedge mused without humour, like a dark parody of the medal ceremony on Yavin IV. And then he caught what the commentator was saying.

 

                _"....waiting silently as the victorious Commander, Sohn Vader, the Younger Lord Vader, comes forward to receive the Imperial Medal of Honour. This is an auspicious start to...."_

 

                Any more was drowned out by a sudden chorus of disbelieving voices from the assembled rebels.

 

                "What the hell...."

 

                "What did he say?!"

 

                "Vader?"

 

                " _Another_ Vader?"

 

                Wedge found himself looking alternately between the screen, where Sohn Vader was now mounting the steps of the dais, and the Princess Leia, who was sitting quietly, her pale features looking sadly resigned as she watched the events from the broadcast. Her hand shifted from her lap and found Solo's; the Corellian's fingers closed tightly around her own.

 

                Madine froze the image of the man on the first close up shot. The picture wobbled a little, but held. There was little to see apart from a black half mask and an exposed mouth and chin. "This," the General said indicating the picture, "according to our sources is the son of Darth Vader. We are led to believe that, like his father, he is trained in the Dark Jedi Arts."

 

                _Jedi,_ thought Wedge. _Like Luke._

 

                "We can only speculate on why this is the first we have heard of him. We know nothing about him apart from his name, and that he led the TIE fighters who attacked Rogue Squadron. He is an unknown quantity and quite possibly a very dangerous enemy with the potential to surpass even his father's achievements." Madine's words were bitter, biting with enmity.

 

                "There are rumours among Imperial quarters that he is being groomed to become a future Emperor," Mon Mothma added, stressing the importance of the title.

 

                _Emperor._ Wedge looked at the frozen image, trying to see a fledgling galactic ruler behind the Vader facade. But, all he saw was a naked chin...

 

                _...the winter sunlight flashed against the visor of the helmet and Wedge blinked, pulled his own visor down to protect his eyes from the glare. He looked back at his friend who was leaning leisurely against the yellow ladder resting against his X-Wing. Skywalker's chin strap was undone and hung loosely, swaying as Luke turned his head._

_"So what do think, Wedge?"_

_"I think it's damned cold, Luke," Antilles responded with a smile._

_Luke ignored him. "Do you think I should ask her?"_

_"What have you got to lose?" Wedge enquired, as he rubbed his gloved hands together trying to create a greater warmth through friction._

_"My dignity for one thing," Luke told him grimly. "I don't think she's even noticed me." He turned to face Wedge, his visor dark against the sunlight, his eyes hidden. "So, what do you think?" He scratched at the dimple in his chin._

_"Go for it," Wedge advised him with an encouraging grin._

 

                ...a naked chin with a cleft.

 

                No. It was a ridiculous thought. An impossible consideration. It couldn't be. It was an error from an active imagination. And yet....

 

                It made sense. Harrowing sense. It explained the events over Hasthaal, when he was allowed to return alive and unscathed from a massacre. It explained why an Imperial Commander had him in his sights and missed, why when another TIE had targeted him it abruptly peeled away from him. Why he was not followed like his remaining men and destroyed.

 

                "Wedge, what are you thinking?"

 

                The meeting had concluded, the officers were leaving the room and Leia Organa stood at his side with an odd, quizzical look on her face.

 

                Wedge took another look at the screen. "Nothing much," he replied, quietly. "I was just wondering who he really is." And he realised his mistake. He was implying another identity for the man.

 

                "Yes, he is an enigma, isn't he?"

 

                And so was the Princess.

 

                "I should be going," he said quickly. Not wishing to get into this conversation. Not wishing his suspicions to be aired. This was all wrong.

 

                "Of course," Leia agreed. She seemed relieved, seemed to back away towards the waiting Corellian with procrastinate ease. "May the Force be with you, Wedge."

 

                He was about to answer, about to wish her the same, but the words that came out were not the words he had been thinking. "Your Highness? I...." And then he realised what he was doing and stopped.

 

                "What is it, Commander?"

 

                They had reverted to their given titles, their barriers had gone up, each suddenly unsure and suspicious of the other, of what was about to be said. Wedge looked behind the Princess and found Solo watching him. The pilot's face was grim, dark, and there seemed to be a warning there. However, the room was now empty bar themselves and Wedge suddenly needed to share what was on his mind. It seemed important, it seemed the thoughts and ideas were crowding in, pushing against one another looking for the exit which would expose them to others for analysis.

 

                But what to say. How to say it.

 

                He sat down, staring at the screen, staring at the man shown there. A man he knew, or thought he had known.  He felt Solo's stare, the Princess's wary gaze.

 

                "At Hasthaal," he heard himself say, and was surprised to find that his voice sounded weary. "We were out numbered. I mean three to one at least."

 

                "I know about this, Wedge."

 

                First name again. She was telling him to shut up, to pipe down, telling him to keep his insane thoughts to himself. Because she had known _before_ him. But still he pressed on. "Yeah," he acknowledged, as Solo quietly moved in behind the princess, "so how did I get out, huh? It wasn't skill, it wasn't luck. I..." He gestured to the picture. "He... let me go."

 

                "You don't know that Wedge." Solo this time, adding his voice to Leia's.

 

                "No, I guess I don't really. It's a feeling, more than anything - but he could have had me. I was in his sights more than once, I know it!"  He was getting angry, getting frustrated by his inability to just say it and get it over with. "He came in from the front and broke left, seemed to loop right around me. I did the same, it was natural, it was something we..." He hesitated at that, still looking at the picture.

 

                "We?" the Princess prompted. And Wedge turned back to her, grateful for her understanding. It needed to be said and he might as well be the one to blurt it out.

 

                "We used to clown around during routine patrols and practice. We had this one stunt we used to pull. Commander Narra never let up about it. Called us irresponsible lunatics, gave us hell, and saw to it that the techs did the same that one time we busted one of the foils on my ship. Chief tech's still on about it." He knew he was blabbering, gibbering like an idiot, putting the moment off for as long as possible as though by doing so he could delay it indefinitely.

 

                But inevitably he could talk no more, except to utter that which he had set out to say. "That pilot flew our stunt," he finally told them," that pilot...Sohn Vader.   He flies like Luke."

 

                "What are you saying, Antilles?"

 

                Wedge looked to the speaker, stared Solo in the eyes. Saw the danger, the warning, the grief. What was he saying? What was he suggesting?  "I don't know, General," he confessed quietly. "I only know what I saw. What I feel. And he flies like Luke. I know how crazy that sounds. I.."

 

                "Luke's dead," Solo reminded him slowly emphasising the final word for the pilot. "Vader had him trapped, and then Vader had him killed."

 

                "Han..." the Princess had turned, placed a palm against Solo's chest.

 

                The Corellian shift his gaze from Wedge to Leia.

 

                "We both know, Han,” she told him simply. "We both saw and we've tried to ignore it. Pretending we're blind to the obvious. We know him too well. I...well, I felt it from the beginning." She looked to the stilled picture, wishing she could see more of Sohn Vader's face, wishing she could see Luke there, recalling the emotions she had experienced when she had visited the farm on Tatooine searching for something of her friend...

 

_...my brother...he's my brother..._

 

                ...there had been nothing of him there, no presence, no echo which she could have said belonged to him. There had only been the dull feeling, working in the background of her mind, that Luke was not dead.

 

                Solo dropped his eyes, nodded in mute agreement - after all he had worked it out for himself as soon as Leia had told him of Luke's fate. He had realised Vader had worked too hard to capture Luke alive, had been too obsessed with Luke's existence to reward himself with a corpse. Han had been the quickest to see it, but the slowest to want to acknowledge it.

 

                But there was more happening here. Something which he and Leia were skirting around, something wrong, something frightful, something which caused bitter gall to burn in the back of his throat. He lifted his eyes back to Leia, not to say anything, just to see if she was as aware as he of what was happening.

 

                But Leia turned away, turned toward the waiting and confused pilot. She wanted to keep the topic on Luke, wanted to keep attention away from those other considerations.  "Over Hasthaal...did he fire on you?"

 

                "Yes...twice."

 

                "And he missed." Not a question. A statement of fact.

 

                "Yes."

 

                "And this manoeuvre, this stunt. Was that ever used as an attack pattern?"

 

                "No, never. We..."

 

                And Leia smiled. It was a smile seemingly out of context and, at first, Wedge was perplexed by its meaning. Her eyes seemed to take on new hues of emotion, seemed to burn from sudden inner understanding. Then he considered the path of her questions, and was struck by what the princess was attempting to show them, attempting to show herself.

 

                "He missed me," he told them, sounding incredulous. "He meant to miss me, and he gave himself away....why?"

 

                Solo turned from them, turned away from their words, from their hope and looked at the image on the screen. He gestured at it. "You're saying that's still Luke?" He demanded, sounding angry, sounding torn. The image of Luke as he had last seen him on Hoth too strong in his mind to shake off,  too clear to equate with the person they claimed to be the son of Darth Vader....

 

                _...the son of Darth Vader! Leia can't you see what that means for you? He's your brother..._

 

                "What ever has happened...that's not Luke...Not any more."

 

                "No," Leia agreed softly, taking his arm. Giving silent communication along with her spoken words. "No, that's not Luke. But, he's there Han. I know he's still there."

 

                _...and I know what it all means for me. Luke's my brother. Vader could be my father. I know. And it abhors me to know..._

 

                And Han could do nothing more than nod, consenting to her words.

 

                Antilles was staring at the couple, feeling cut off, shut out. Something more was happening here, but he didn't understand what. The princess...she sounded so strange, so absolutely sure - and Solo was accepting what she said. But, Luke...it was all pure conjecture. What they were saying, what they were discussing was impossible. Wedge was confused, his thoughts and feelings reeling around inside, prancing away from his attempts to understand exactly what was going on. There was an undercurrent, another meaning to their conversation and Wedge was not party to it.

 

                Sohn Vader. Luke Skywalker. Was it possible they were one and the same? If they were, what did it mean? Had Skywalker been a facade? Was the Vader the true person? Or was it the other way around; Skywalker pretending to be a Vader? If that was the truth then what the hell was Luke playing at? How had he gotten himself into such a situation?

 

                Vader's son.

 

                A ruse? By whom? By the Empire upon the Rebels? Using the likeness of Skywalker to undermine the confidence of his previous friends?

 

                The truth? Simply because such an errant position could be nothing else?

 

                "Wedge?"

 

                He blinked, brought his attention forward, outward. Cleared his thoughts to the side for a moment. "Your Highness?"

 

                "Leave this to us."

 

                At first he wasn't sure what she was saying, what she was asking. He glanced to the Corellian beside her and saw solid determination. "But what if..."

 

                "Let us deal with command, Wedge. That's our.....my responsibility. But only afterwards, after its over. Nothing is to be said until then. One way or another. Either way, it won't matter then."

 

                "He's a pilot," he stated, forcing words over his lips. "In battle, there's a chance we'll..."

 

                "Either way, Wedge."

 

                And he silently nodded his understanding and assent.

 

                The Princess appeared satisfied, relieved. "Thank you, Commander."

 

                And then he was alone in the briefing room. Alone with the silence and the flickering light from the stilled picture frame. He smiled without humour, someone must have forgotten to turn it off. He sat down, wiped his hands over his face, rubbed at his eyes and looked up.

 

                The mask and helmet stared back. Wedge didn't know what had happened, could guess numerous times and never touch on the facts of the events. All he knew was true, all he felt was true was that Luke had been caught, Luke's execution had been faked and Luke now wore the garb of the Imperial Elite. Whether this Sohn Vader was the real face of Luke Skywalker was only further speculation.

 

                 There were other truths; over Hasthaal Skywalker had spared his life, had remembered him, had remembered their friendship. And, sitting here now, on the eve of battle, Wedge didn't know if he could extend to Luke the same liberty should they meet again above Endor.

 


	9. A Light Foreshadowed Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been forced upon him, thrust into his outstretched hands that had pleaded mercy and had received corruption in its place. 
> 
>  
> 
> Palpatine arrives at the Death Star. Vader's feelings about his son are conflicted and, as events roll on, the pressure on Sohn Vader increases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous copyright disclaimers still apply.
> 
> Please remember this was written BEFORE the prequels...

 

 

** A Light Foreshadowed **

** Part One **

****

_He ran, stumbling through the whiteness, his legs sinking into the softness of the snow around him. He ran, fighting the cold as it clung to his skin, as it sapped the strength from his body. Ran, as fast as the hampering ice would allow._

_The creature bellowed its rage behind him._

_He fell. Went head long into a snow bank. He turned, his hands fumbling at his belt for his lightsabre. Not there. He squinted in the light - sunlight reflecting off the snow, the sharpness stabbing his eyes...._

**_...this is light. This is pain..._ **

 

_...The creature roared again. Closer._

_He turned, pulled himself to his feet. Glanced around looking for a place to hide, looking for shelter from the beasts' fury, from the elements of this wilderness and saw only the wampa charging towards him._

_A cry was torn from his throat as the brute fell on him, claws tearing his clothing, his flesh, teeth ripping at his neck..._

_And there was darkness, a peacefulness into which he gratefully sank..._

**_...stay and be safe,_ ** _the shadows offered, **stay and find strength....**_

 

_"Luke...."_

 

He awakened to darkness, blinked sweat from his eyes as he slowly adjusted to being back in the real world, hearing the trailing whispers of his dream retreat quietly from his mind.

 

" _...Luke..."_

 

 He sat up. "Lights."

         

And the room was abruptly flooded with light...

 

**_...this is light. This is pain..._ **

 

"Lower,” he ordered through a scarred throat, burned by the freezing carbonite. A gift from his father and his Emperor; a reminder.

 

 The lights dimmed. He rose from the bed, padded across the cool, slick floor of his quarters and stood before the view port. He stared into space, at the Endor moon, at his father's ship as it slid out from the light side of the orb. It was a beautiful view. The deepness of space sprinkled with stars, the aura of life pulsing through the Force from the moon and from the huge ship, which moved gracefully through the system with TIE fighters darting like carrion flies around its bulk and sunlight bursting on its retreating stern.

 

And the old feelings were there; astonishment, awe, apprehension, excitement and an adrenaline filled sense of discovery and achievement. He had made it! He was here! He was off that sandy planet of his youth; he was where his dreams had promised. Left behind was a life of drudgery on the farm, gone was....

 

The farm...

 

_....there had been smoke, blackened bodies lying in the sun. He had shouted for them, saw them, and then buried them. The pain had been stunning, too powerful to allow tears. But he had cried..._

...he closed his eyes against the memories. They had no place here, on the Death Star. They were dangerous, if his father should sense them, if he dwelled too long in the past he might...

 

Might what? Might remember who he had been? What he had been? What he had? Might regret the path his life had taken? Might resent what had happened to him, what had been done to him, how he had changed? How he had accepted that which once abhorred him?

 

Accepted? Had he taken to this life willingly? Had he held out his hands and taken what was offered?

 

No. It had been forced upon him, thrust into his outstretched hands that had pleaded mercy and had received corruption in its place. But had he not adapted, had he not taken to the life as though born to it, had he not dealt that corruption onto others?

 

Accepted?   Perhaps. But with a purpose...

 

He shifted his eyes back to the Executor, abruptly aware that his thoughts had been open, that his father could easily have read his feelings. The Dark Lord's presence was strong, but he was pre-occupied elsewhere and he was concerned, but strangely exhilarated, as though something was about to happen, something which caused a thrill of anticipation to course through him and he showed no acknowledgement of his son's questioning touch. At first Sohn was confused, it was unlike his father to be so distant, so ignorant of his offspring. 

 

There was a tone from the doorway and Sohn turned to the sound, glad that his thoughts had been interrupted, stopped; should they have been sensed by his father his punishment would have been swift and severe. And, given that Emperor was due to arrive....

 

The Emperor! Sohn was struck with sickening realisation. That was why his father had paid him no heed. Palpatine's ship was approaching. But he had felt nothing, had not sensed his master drawing near....

 

**_....this is light. This is pain....._ **

 

....but he had. His dreams had been invaded, Palpatine's presence manifesting into the attacking Wampa, the whispers, and he had withdrawn when Sohn wakened, enjoying the continued mind games he had begun when a weakened Luke Skywalker had fallen from the carbonite so many months before.

 

_"You were correct Lord Vader, he is just a boy. Perhaps my fears were unfounded."_

 

The tone from the door, again. Why didn't they just call him on the comlink? Why always the messenger?

 

"Enter."

 

The door swept aside revealing a young lieutenant and four stormtroopers. "My Lord Commander," the officer began squinting in the dim light, seeing only shadows and the silhouette of the younger Vader.  "The Emperor commands your presence for his arrival."

 

"Of course he does," Sohn answered, tightly. "And he requested the escort?"  As though he would disobey his master's command or, as though he was still a prisoner and Palpatine was letting him know it. He smiled ruefully, cherishing the knot of anger forming within him; as though mere troopers could stop him now.

 

"Yes, my Lord."

 

Sohn turned from the soldier, looked back to the view port and watched as a Super Star Destroyer burst from light speed. Palpatine's presence filled him, the man's evil seeping through him, chilling him to the core and he welcomed it, opened to it, allowed it to brush his very soul and he gloried in the freezing passion of the Dark Side of the Force, cried out with the sheer agony of its power. He buckled and fell to the floor.

 

Then it left him, the Emperor having moved his attentions elsewhere leaving Sohn, on his knees, gasping in calming breaths of air. He closed his eyes and focused inward trying to still his twisting emotions, trying to disperse his lingering revulsion at the Emperor's touch.

 

"Uh, Sir?"  The lieutenant began a distinct nervousness now obvious in his tones. "My Lord, you....."

 

"I know," Sohn cut in sharply, turning his attention to the soldiers. Smiling inwardly at the fear which he felt within them. Fear of him, of the Emperor, should they not complete their given task.  "We cannot keep Him waiting."

 

He stood, dressed, lifted his mask and helmet from beside the bed, and donned them.  Then he lifted his lightsabre - the one Kenobi had given him, his father's - and hooked it to his belt. He strode from the room subduing his feelings, keeping in check the tension and anticipation he knew were growing within him, dulling all facets of his being except those which were Sohn Vader.

 

 

         

Walking down the corridor of waiting troops, he took his place by his father's side as the Emperor's shuttle touched down in the docking bay. The elder Vader did not acknowledge him, his attention focused on the shuttle before them, on the ramp that was lowering. It had been many weeks since they had been with the Emperor, since His Majesty had allowed Sohn to be given a rank within his forces and to leave the nurturing darkness of the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, and Sohn struggled to check the unease, the fear which swelled abruptly within him as the hatch opened. But he rose above the feelings, emptied his mind and stood firm.

 

Darth Vader kneeled as his master emerged from the ship, sensing his son and those around them doing likewise. Sohn appeared calm, his feelings quiet to the moment at hand. And Vader was proud; proud of his son's ability to control himself. Sohn was indeed strong. Stronger than he, or the Emperor, had imagined and he had sensed his master's disquiet growing even as he had felt Sohn become more sure of himself and his skills.

 

Proud and yet, there was something else, feelings trailing like a loose thread which teased the edge of his emotions. Feelings he had not felt for a long time, so long he could barely recognise them.  Regret, guilt, grief. Regret that his son had turned - after a fight, a struggle. Guilt, that he had been a party to his son's fall, his child's suffering. Grief, that Luke....

 

_..Luke?_

 

.....There was a truth in that name. A truth he was finding more difficult to deny. He had acknowledged Luke Skywalker as his son, and had thus acknowledged the Skywalker name once more as being his own. And, with this acknowledgement came the acceptance of himself as Anakin Skywalker. And he had remembered himself as a youth, the dreams and aspirations he had once had and how none had come to fruition.

 

They had been lost, as had he, to the Dark Side, to Palpatine's own ambitions.

 

He knew the moment when Anakin had surfaced, when he became acutely aware of these feelings for the first time. They had just finished another training session with Sohn, Palpatine teasing and goading, demanding more and more. Vader had felt Sohn's anger and frustrations growing with each order, and suddenly the Emperor had ended the session and turned his attentions to the affairs of state, dismissing father and son with a wave of his hand. The youth had been interrupted during a sabre drill, one they had criticised and scorned time after time, and now he was doing it correctly it was to be left incomplete and unrecognised.

 

Sohn had stormed away, his fury simmering at the dismissal, his body and mind trembling with exertion. Understanding this, Palpatine had sent a lowly soldier to Sohn's quarters with a trivial request. It was one demand too many. Sohn killed the man, using his rage to crush him. Vader had felt his son's churning emotions, had felt the burst of sheer power. When he had arrived at his son's quarters, Sohn had looked up at him from the twisted corpse, his feelings convoluted and confused. Vader felt the revulsion, the grief and shame, as Sohn had stammered out his excuse of; "he annoyed me." But, he had also felt the boy's pleasure, the growing understanding of the power he held within his grasp. He had killed without a weapon, without a reason, using only the Force. His remorse would fade whereas his power could only grow.

 

Vader had turned from him, left him without a word. What had happened had been a turning point for them both. For Vader it reminded him of his first kill using the dark side. Both father and son had demonstrated the same failing; allowing their anger to cloud them to the dark side and thus leaving them open to its manipulations. Vader's mind had cleared, and Anakin Skywalker stirred within him.

 

He was also aware that Sohn was holding something close, knew that from the day he had pledged his life to the Emperor and the Empire, the boy had been keeping something hidden. However, Sohn had been clever in diverting both himself and the Emperor from that concealed place when they touched and probed his feelings.

 

However, his own feelings were a different matter. Although Palpatine had not yet sensed his doubts...

 

.... _his hope_....

 

....he knew that Sohn had sensed them, for he had allowed the boy easy access. They now danced lightly around each other, prying and pulling back for fear of rejection. Both were curious, but unwilling to trust, unwilling to be the first to speak the unspoken. He had offered Sohn his hand, had uttered treasonous words, perhaps as a test to Sohn's loyalties for the approaching battle. Perhaps not, for at times now he was unsure of his own motives.

 

_"You could destroy him."_

_"That is not my place."_

 

Vader had been rejected, but the thoughts had lingered, being nurtured by them both. They could destroy the Emperor together _._  Then, the galaxy would be theirs. Father and son. The power would be theirs. Vader could almost touch it now, feel it coursing through him. The power...

_...and what would they do with that power? End the current conflict, and then what? Bring more death and grief to the systems? Perpetuate what the Emperor had begun? Or would they rebuild what had been destroyed?_

"Rise, my friend."  The Emperor bid him.

 

Vader shut off his thoughts, closed down his feelings. Relieved that Palpatine had not chosen the few minutes it took to exit the shuttle to caress his thoughts, to touch the core of his feelings. He rose and walked with his master, passing Sohn without a glance, ignoring the boy. Vader knew, however, that Sohn too had risen and was walking at his back with Moff Jerjerrod, the Death Star's commander, and the other dignitaries _._

 

How wise was it for them to turn their backs on the boy?

 

"The Death Star will be completed on schedule," he told Palpatine _._

 

"You have done well, Lord Vader," and now he felt his master's touch, allowed himself to open under its command. "But, I sense you are not entirely comfortable with our plans to route the Alliance."

 

"I would never question your wisdom, my master." Vader assured him, firmly.

 

"But your son does," The Emperor snapped, turning swiftly to Sohn who dropped to his bended knee once more before him. Palpatine relished the brief burst of terror which rose from the boy. "Explain, child! What gives _you_ the authority to question our actions?"

 

"Forgive me, Sire," Sohn begged, quietly, calmly. He was horrified at this sudden attention, this humiliation before the battle station's crew. "I know these rebels, their fanaticism."

 

"Yes, you do, don't you," the Emperor conceded, menacingly, but impressed by Sohn's control.  "Perhaps we should discuss this fanaticism further?"

 

Sohn struggled to contain his emotions, his hatred for this man almost overwhelming, his fear of what a further discussion would entail. But beneath this was an understanding that Palpatine did not trust him, indeed the Emperor held his own fear of him; fear of what he was capable of should the tight controls he was subjugated too be loosened just a little too much. And fear him he should.  Sohn bowed his head, staring at the polished floor of the docking bay, hiding the slight smile which tinged his lips.   "As you wish, Majesty."

 

Palpatine smiled, savouring the moment, the utter obedience Sohn displayed despite his open hatred. The boy had learned his lessons well and by the time the coming battle was over Sohn would belong fully to the Dark Side.  "Perhaps not.  Use your knowledge, young one. But use it carefully," he warned. "It may be an advantage to us. Tend to your duties, Commander."

 

"As you command, Sire."

 

"Come, Lord Vader,"   Palpatine requested, now turning from Sohn and walking on. "Remain at my side, we still have much to discuss."

 

Sohn remained where he was until the Emperor's entourage had passed him by, and the troops had begun to break up. Then he stood and strode from the hanger, mentally daring anyone to smile or glance in his direction.

 

 

 

The Rebel hanger bay was filled to capacity. It looked, Solo mused as he weaved his away through the ships, fighters and personnel, like the Deluvian Vehicle Auctions on Tari'un IV before the bidding started. Noise was just as bad too; he could hardly hear Calrissian beside him speaking.

 

Now there was a turn about. Lando Calrissian, a Rebel General. The self-centred, self-serving gambler had found a cause....

 

_..So have you..._

 

Well maybe, he conceded to the tiny inner whisper. But then maybe he wanted some pay back for what they did to him: all those months in carbon freeze lost while events twisted themselves around him until very little made sense anymore. Calrissian, who help orchestrate his capture with Vader, helping Leia plan his rescue and risking his life in return. The Empire building another Death Star, and Luke.... Dead, but not dead. Introduced by the Empire as Vader's son....and Leia, his sister....Vader's daughter? 

 

No sense, just an awful truth.

 

"Look," he interrupted, stopping at the ramp of a small Imperial shuttle, and waving his hand in the direction of the Millennium Falcon. "I want you to take her." Calrissian looked at him dubiously. "I mean it, take her. You need all the help you can get. She's the fastest ship in the fleet."

         

Lando's doubt turned to a smile. He'd been relishing piloting his old ship again while Han had been missing and, if truth be told, had been reluctant to return her to her rightful owner. Any chance to continue flying her was to be jumped at. "All right, old buddy. You know, I know what she means to you. I'll take good care of her. She...she won't get a scratch."

 

Han winced, _scratch?_ Had he done the right thing after all? "Right. I got your promise now. Not a scratch."

 

Lando grinned. "Look, would you get going, you pirate." Then he turned serious, and saluted his friend. "Good Luck."

 

Han returned the gesture, "you too." He turned then and walked up the shuttles ramp.

 

Leia was frowning at the control panel in front of her and Chewbacca was gesturing and complaining at the blinking lights on the co-pilot console as Han entered the cockpit.  "You got her warmed?" he asked, skirting past Threepio who, for once, was quietly buckling himself into an acceleration chair.

 

"Yes," Leia answered him over Chewie's rumbles. "She's coming along nicely."

 

Chewie shifted his bulk in the confines of the co-pilot chair, barking loudly at Han. The Corellian grimaced at the Wookiee's words, but could offer no consolation except; "Yeah, well, I don't think the Empire had Wookiees in mind when they designed her, Chewie."

 

He settled into the pilot's chair taking a moment to familiarise himself with the shuttle's controls. He glanced up, looked out the cockpit window and stopped when he saw the Millennium Falcon sitting across the hanger.

 

_What a piece of junk!_

Han dismissed Luke's past burst of derision. The kid had come to appreciate the Falcon, had pleaded to be allowed to pilot her, and besides it was a long time ago now. Things were different, Luke was....different. The Falcon was looking good, looking sharp and eager. He'd spent hours working on her - those he could afford since becoming a Rebel General - had relished every task, every cross of wires, every instrument light, every power cell he installed. It had helped take his mind off things, helped refocus him to the future instead of looking to the past and everything that had occurred since Hoth...

 

_...Past....Future...._

 

...and Han felt a chill.

 

A warm hand was placed on his shoulder.

 

"Hey, are you awake?"

 

Han pulled himself back a little, still staring out at the Falcon. "Yeah. I just got a funny feeling. Like I'm not gonna see her again."

 

Chewbacca caught his words, looked up, and he too, gazed out at their ship; memories chasing each other through his mind.

 

Leia patted Han's upper arm. "Come on, General, let’s move."

 

Han tore his eyes away from the freighter to the controls before him, and the mission ahead. "Right," he agreed with Leia. "Chewie, lets see what this piece of junk can do. Ready, everybody?"

 

Leia glanced behind her at the ground squad in the passenger compartment. "We're all set."

 

Han gunned the throttle and the shuttle moved forward past the Falcon, past waiting X-Wings and ground crews, and out through the docking bays doors to the space beyond.

 

"Here we go again." Threepio commented, as Han manoeuvred the shuttle past the ships of the fleet.

 

 "All right, hang on." Han told them as the star lights beyond the cockpit window streaked to hyperspace.

 

 

 

Standing by his X-Wing, Wedge Antilles watched the Tydirium leave the docking bay sending his silent best wishes after them. His fate, and that of every fighter pilot, was in their hands. It was up to that one small group to deactivate the Death Star's shields to allow the fighters access to the battle station's interior. If they failed in that task then the entire foundation of the attack would fail, and with it the Rebellion itself.  He was glad that burden did not rest on his shoulders.

 

But that didn't mean he didn't have burdens of his own. His was knowledge he didn't really want, knowledge that he could meet an old friend in battle and be forced to kill him, or be killed by him.

 

"Hey, Wedge! Deep thoughts?"

 

He turned and found the Deck Officer watching him. "Nah, just thoughts."

 

"Dangerous things at times like this, Commander."

 

Wedge grimaced, and then smiled sadly. "I was just wishing Luke was here."

 

"Skywalker?" The Deck Officer questioned, looking out to the stars beyond the docking bay doors.  "I'm sure he'll be with us, sir. In spirit at least."

 

"I hope you're right." Wedge told him quietly, following his gaze. _And I hope I'm wrong._

 

 

 

"Pull in tighter, number 2," Sohn commanded, as he and his squad came around the Death Star for the second sweep of their patrol. He hated this routine, this numbing boredom. This waiting. And waiting they were. Waiting for the Alliance to make their move, to break the monotony. Every hour which past brought the battle closer, heightened the tension every man felt. However, they were ready; the Emperor had planned it all to the tiniest detail himself. Victory was assured, and the Dark Side would....

 

_"Always in motion is the future. Difficult to see...."_

 

Yoda's words now mocked him. If he had seen his future clearly, would he still be here? Would he have taken a different path? One which did not have him running off to Bespin to save his friends. Would he have sat in the mud of Dagobah, continued his lessons while those he cared for screamed and died?

 

_"And sacrifice Han and Leia?"_

_"If you honour what they fight for… Yes."_

 

Yes, he had honoured it, valued it. The fall of the Empire, freedom for the systems and for himself. He still could tingle with the dream of it. But, he had valued Han and Leia more... No, that was a lie. He had valued facing Vader more. Valued facing the man who he had been lead to believe had killed his father. Valued standing before him as a Jedi and as an equal.

 

A small smile creased his lips. How wrong he had been, then. But he still valued this idea. Valued it even more now that he knew Vader _was_ his father.

 

His flight crossed the path of the Executor. His father's ship. However, Vader was not on board; his father had been spending much of his time with the Emperor. Sohn could only guess at what the two discussed and plotted when alone together, but he could sense his father was.....

 

There was a whisper, a light caress at the edge of his mind like a breeze gently brushing by. And then it was gone. He frowned, confused by this wave within the Force. This had not come from Vader, or the Emperor. Nor was it a feeling of his own concerning events and possibilities. It had come from another, another whose presence rippled the Force as they passed. And they were familiar to him.

 

He banked his fighter, broke away from the formation of his flight and ignored the questions from his wing-man. Again he passed the executor. Chatter from the shipping lines, controlled from the bridge, filled his com. Supply ships running errands from Endor to Destroyer, shuttles ferrying troops and passengers.

 

" ..You have permission to dock at..."

 

"…requesting deactivation of the deflector shield."

 

"..Be advised that..."

 

"Shuttle Tydirium, transmit the clearance code for shield passage."

 

"Transmission commencing."

 

 The man's voice was a little garbled by the com signal, but he had grown used to hearing it that way over the years; he in his X-Wing, Han in the Falcon.  Han...

 

_"Be careful."_

_"You, too."_

 

Knowledge had passed between them at that moment on Hoth. An understanding that they may not see each other again, that if they did things would not be the same, that they each shared the same feelings for one another although they would remain unspoken; respect, admiration and love. On Hoth everything had changed, their friendship had been redefined; their love for Leia had altered, with Han's being the strongest and the more right. His own love had been a crush that over the years had dimmed and mellowed into love of company, of friendship, of kindred dreams and hopes.

 

Pushing back his sudden burst of delight, he wiped the smile from his face and keyed his com; "Shuttle Tydirium what is your destination?"

 

There was a pause, then. "Ah, the forest moon. We have parts and technical crew for the shield generator."

 

"Is there a problem Lord Commander?"  The bridge controller interrupted. "The code checks out, I was about to clear them."

 

"No problem," Sohn answered, tersely, coming alongside the shuttle. There was a definite presence from the small ship, someone he knew, someone gentle but resolute, someone who...

 

_Leia!_ It could only be Leia accompanying Han. Leia and Chewie, and possibly the droids. But, that presence...so comforting, so soothing. He closed his eyes, reached out and was immediately welcomed....

 

_...Luke?_

 

...he withdrew, surprised, unsettled. He had never considered this before. Never imagined that Leia had Force potential. And she knew her gifts and had allowed him access to her, and she was strong - lacking experience, training, but so strong. Her existence sparkled within the Force, caused ripples to wave outwards much like a pebble in pond. How was this possible? How could Leia be Jedi? 

 

Then the coolness of fear flooded him; if he had sensed Leia then had Vader? Had Palpatine? Did she realise the risks she was taking by coming here, did she not understand how alluring her light would be to them......

 

_...to me...._

...how they would want to possess it, possess her in the same way they now possessed him. He dared not reach out to them, he dared not bring their attention to him and thus to her and so he resisted the urge… the need...to feel for them to probe and explore the direction of their attentions.  He would need to tread more carefully now if he wished to hide her.....

 

... _.to have her to himself, to cradle her light jealously and guard it so it could not be lost as his was....._

 

....from them. To take stock of what this meant for him, for his.....

 

"Lord Commander," Admiral Piett's curt tones interrupted his thoughts. "If there is no problem here, then allow the shuttle to pass and return to your assigned duties at once. I shall have to explain your infraction to your father." The last was said with some humour, and Sohn could almost see the smile on the thin lips.

 

He bit back his anger, swallowed his pride, his loathing for the man who commanded him - or thought he did. "As you wish, Admiral. However, I shall explain my infraction, to my father myself."  He banked his fighter away from shuttle and headed toward the Death Star, unsure of how to give account of his actions to his father and very sure that Piett, even now, was contacting Vader.

 

 

         

"That was close." Han commented, with a relieved smile as he watched the fighter leave their side.

 

"That was Luke."  Leia replied quietly, and Chewie softly grunted by her side.

 

"You think?" Han questioned as the forest moon filled the view port. "Sounded nothing like him."

 

"That was Luke." Leia repeated. "I know it was, and he knew it was us."

 

Han grimaced, not knowing if it was Luke recognising they were here, or that Leia could...

 

… _could what? Could sense Luke? Could feel Luke? ...Know it was Luke? …_

 

…that made him uneasy. "Think he'll rat on us?"

 

"Yes...yes he will, but…” she frowned, confused by her own feelings and thoughts.”…but for the right reasons."

 

"There's no right reason for what he's doing, Sweetheart." Han answered, as they entered the moon's atmosphere. He pointed to the scanners, "There, Chewie, our landing point." Then he turned to the princess anger biting his words. "This is going to be hard enough without Luke making it more difficult. Don't pin your hopes on getting him back. If he wanted to be with us, he would be. But he's not. He's chosen his side."

 

"You don't believe that, Han," Leia commented, sadness in her voice.

 

No, he didn't believe that. The fact was he wasn't sure of what he believed about Luke. He missed the kid, missed his friend; the young man he had enjoyed watching grow and mature. He grieved for him.  But of one thing he was sure. "If he gets in our way, Leia...."  Beside him Chewie quietly chuffed.

 

"I know, Han. But, it won't come to that."  

 

_It can't come to that...._

 

They continued in silence, each considering their own thoughts. Solo brought the shuttle down into a small clearing within the Endor forest, and closed down the engine. Behind them in the passenger compartment the rebel soldiers began gathering their gear.  Han turned to Leia. "Time to go, Sweetheart."

 

"I'm ready."

 

 

 

Even before Piett had contacted him Vader knew something had happened. He had sensed his son's sudden surge of emotions. Had felt his curiosity, his realisation, his fright, his lingering trails of a remembered love. Then the shutters had clamped down and all he felt then was the cool blackness of Sohn Vader. 

 

Piett's report had given some meaning to these feelings. The shuttle heading to moon's surface was undoubtedly an early Rebel landing, and Sohn had recognised them.  The door of his private quarters slid open and Sohn strode in still clad in his pilot's flight suit and his half-mask and helmet, lightsabre swinging from his belt. Behind him, lying on the floor of the corridor beyond was the prone, gasping figure of Vader's personal guard. Vader smiled behind the mask. Even now Sohn abhorred killing, though he did not hesitate to punish subordinates if they got in his way.

 

"Father," he greeted as he pulled the helmet off.

 

"Is it Solo?"

 

Sohn halted, surprise crossing his features; horror.

 

"Or the Princess Leia?"

 

He bowed his head, closed his eyes. Answered with the truth. "I believe both, father."

 

"I will alert the Emperor to this development."

 

"Father...." Sohn stalled, unsure of what he was about to say. He stepped forward, keeping his feelings in check. "Allow me to lead a detachment down to apprehend them."

 

Interesting.  But not surprising. "For what reason?"

 

Reason? What was his reason, what was he thinking? To prove his allegiance to the dark, or to try and grabble his way back to the light - her light. "My Lord," he bowed his head. "They are enemies of the Empire. The Emperor would...."

 

"Liar!" Vader burst, watching as Sohn dropped to his knees, as he bowed to his father. And the sight did not satisfy the Dark Lord, it disturbed him.  "I can feel the deception within you...."

 

"Father! Please..." Sohn pleaded. "I do not intend to deceive you. I....

 

Vader turned away from him. "Then what are your intentions?"

 

_...to get to them first....to keep them from you...._

 

Sohn climbed back to his feet. "To bring them to the Emperor, of course," he said, eyes narrowing as he watched his father's back closely, trying to gauge Vader’s feelings. "To prove to my Master and my father that I am truly theirs."

 

Vader suddenly turned around, and Sohn instinctively took at step backward. The Dark Lord could still feel the lie within his son's words, could feel Luke......

 

_....Luke?_

 

...cover his true emotions, his true intentions, but the boy had them so well hidden, so well buried within his darkness that Vader could not penetrate...

 

_When had Luke become so deep? When had Luke become so dark?_

         

And Vader felt a stirring of fear for his son, felt the youth moving further from his grasp, moving further to...

 

_...not Palpatine...._

 

And a sudden realisation punched through to shake the Dark Lord; Sohn was rejecting them both and marking his own path! Sohn had been working carefully, had been quietly honing skills to keep his Masters unaware of his treachery. He moved swiftly forward, gathering the Force around him, reached out with his mind and ripped into his son's, shredding and discarding Sohn's mental and emotional defences with a violence and fury of Force which flowed from his control.

 

Sohn cried out, stumbled backwards against his father's unexpected approach, against his father's vicious invasion of his thoughts and feelings. Pain enveloped him, splitting through him physically and emotionally.  His back hit a wall and he doubled over, groaning. "Father!  Don't....Please..." He pleaded, he warned. "Don't!"  And he drew his arms in, wrapped them around his body trying to defend himself, his eyes tightly shut against the onslaught and he slid to the floor at his father's feet.

 

_...almost there, almost..._

 

_...father...no...not... there..._

 

Vader bent down and hauled Sohn up by his flight harness, overpowering him physically and spiritually. He threw him against the wall, held him by the shoulders sensing his son's defeat, sensing that the secret the boy had been nurturing was within his understanding.

 

"No!" Sohn yelled in horror, in terror, in rage. He brought his hands up, placed them against his father's chest and pushed him back, pushed him and pushed until...

 

_...he was lost in noise and light and.... screaming... screaming... he was screaming..._

 

"Luke!"

 

Vader's bellow tore through his twisting passions, sliced him to the core; the usually resonant tones sounded confused, hurt and desperate. Panting heavily, Sohn opened his eyes.

 

The Dark Lord was standing, somewhat stooped, yards away, his respirator quickening as it worked to keep up with his body’s oxygen demands.  His father had his sabre ignited and was holding it defensively before him, and his father's feelings were convoluted and cautious; ragged with horror and dismay.

 

_What have I done?_

 

Gasping still, Sohn looked to his hands, caught the trailing flickers of light around his fingers as the Force within was brought back under his control. And he understood what had happened, what he had done, the power he had suddenly commanded. Alarm washed through him as the last sparks of Force-lightening disappeared and, stricken, Sohn glanced back at his father as Vader deactivated the lightsaber he had used to deflect the corrupt power.

 

"Father?  I..." he choked, swallowed, tried to clear his rough throat. What could he say to explain this abomination? He had demonstrated the darkest of the Sith's abilities, one which sickened him, one which even his father had avoided; he had lifted his hands against his father when he should have granted the elder man passage to his thoughts, to his private feelings. Those were his lessons from the past; he should have no knowledge that Vader and Palpatine did not have easy access to. He had disobeyed and he had.....

 

He had bested his father and this was, at once, a compelling and repellent notion.

 

"Luke?" Vader questioned, feeling his son's inner struggle, unable to keep the antipathy from his voice at Luke's actions, the grief for a child so lost.

 

"That is not my name, Father," Sohn told him evenly, pulling himself up and straightening his back. The Force burned coldly within him and he smiled, eyes dark with strength.  "Skywalker is dead."

 

_...which one?_

 

"Indeed," Vader acknowledged, stilling his own thoughts and emotions. Sohn's abilities had shaken him, had almost brought him to his knees, and he could feel Palpatine probing gently, aware that something significant had occurred. His summons would come soon.  "You have learned well, my son." And his voice was weighed with sorrow.

 

"I was taught well," there was bitterness in those words. Bitterness and hatred.

 

Vader nodded. The child spoke the truth this time, but there were many lessons yet to learn. "Then go to the Endor moon, and bring your friends to the Emperor."

 

Sohn closed his eyes in satisfaction, briefly bowed his head, as darkness thrilled through him. Darkness, and... "Thank you, father."  He turned and left the room.

 

The Dark Lord watched him leave, was relieved when the door closed shutting the youth from his sight. His senses heaved with apprehension, with a heavy feeling of loss and guilt. His son had become the Sith Lord he and his Emperor had planned; indeed his son had exceeded their expectations to a dangerous level. It was clear Sohn had his own ambitions and Vader knew they could prove fatal should the Emperor become aware of them. And here was where the remorse lay; his son had become too dark, was unpredictable, and would surely perish for his treachery.

 

Troubled, he turned to the view port, gazing out at the Endor moon, at the fleet, waiting for his Master's call. And, for once, Vader was unsure what to tell Palpatine.


	10. A Light Foreshadowed Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brother and sister meet...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous stated disclaimers still apply....

** A Light Foreshadowed **

 

Part Two

Progress through the Endor Forest was a little easier than Han had initially thought. A few short clicks from the landing zone the squad had come across a path, or sorts, through the woods. Trampled vegetation and packed, worn dirt meandered through the sky scraping trees making the Rebels' progress a little easier - especially for the two droids who quietly bickered at the back of the line. However, Solo was unsure if the path was made by an indigenous life form, or by the Imperials stationed here to guard the Death Star's deflector shields. And so they moved cautiously, but steadily, heading confidently toward their target.

 

Beside him Leia stumbled on a protruding root and Han caught her arm keeping her upright. "Watch your feet, Sweetheart." He warned good-naturedly.

 

"Very funny," Leia commented, glancing up at him as she adjusted her helmet. But Han was looking away, squinting into the forest, signalling for the squad to halt, to get down. He released her arm, drew his blaster, and moved carefully forward with Chewbacca at his side.  Leia lifted her own weapon and came up Solo's side as he peered over a fallen log.

 

"We could go around," Leia suggested as she spotted two troopers and their speeder bikes among the foliage.

 

"We're on a schedule, remember? This whole party'll be for nothing if they see us." Han's voice was a little tense, but there was something else there, an edge that Leia sadly recognised; an eagerness for some action. It was understandable, given Han's nature, that he would be itching for something to happen. Those months spent in carbonite, the few weeks following his rescue spent cooped up onboard a ship as the Alliance planned for this assault. His grief and anger at Luke's fate needing some release.

 

_Luke? What are you doing now?_

 

"Stay here," Han was saying, as he moved off. "Me and Chewie will take care of this."

 

"Han!" Leia whispered quickly, trying to warn him. "I think you...." But he was out of earshot, heading for the two soldiers. Leia cursed under her breath watching as Han made his quiet approach. She heard the loud snap of a twig, saw Han glance down at his traitorous feet before being felled by the nearest soldier. 

 

"Go for help! Go!"  The trooper shouted to his counterpart before being dragged down by Han. The second soldier ran for his bike, climbed on and gunned his engine. A shot from Chewie's bowcaster brought him down.

 

Leia scrambled to her feet, heard the rest of the squad respond to the noise, and ran to help Han. A flash of white among the trees stopped her and she gasped a warning, "Two more of them!" as the Imperial's sped off on their speeder bikes.  She changed direction, sprinting to an idle bike and scrambled on board.

 

She didn't hear Han's "Hey, wait!" as she accelerated forward, trees blurring either side as she tore after her quarry.  She followed, opening up the accelerator catching up, pulled off a few shots which thudded uselessly into the vegetation.

 

She did not see the other bikes pull in behind her until a laser shot barely missed her. She twisted the machine, narrowly avoiding a large trunk, to evade the blaster fire. Realising she was out-numbered she pulled the speeder bike into a wide arc, turning through the forest and heading back the way she had come.

 

The shot hit the side of the bike, knocking Leia off. She flew through the air, landed hard on a bed of leaves and dirt. She lay for a moment gazing up at the blue of the sky, at the Death Star, at a tiny shuttle entering the atmosphere and then a gentle darkness enfolded around her.

 

 

 

"Rise, my friend," Palpatine requested rising from his throne and approaching the towering Dark Lord who had responded to his call. "There was a disturbance in the Force," he stated unnecessarily, though it had been more than a disturbance. It had been a violent vortex, a twisting rush of power that had grabbed and pulled at his senses. It had been fury, it had been desire, and when it cooled, when the torrent had eased, it had been tinged with an impure pleasure. Palpatine knew these feelings well, had often drawn them to him and indulged gleefully. But, this time, the feelings had come from another. It would appear that the boy was surpassing both his, and Vader's, expectations. Which could be a pity if the youth did not tread carefully.

 

_Or, if you do not tread carefully, your Majesty._

 

Palpatine ignored the mocking tones of his inner voice, the words sounding very much like his youngest pupil, as Vader spoke.

 

"A small Rebel Force has penetrated the shields and landed on Endor," Vader rumbled, succinctly, knowing he was not directly explaining what had happened. How could he answer, how could he explain to his master his son had embraced the Dark Side of the Force with a vehemence and fervour more akin to Palpatine himself than a Skywalker.

 

_Skywalker?_

 

"Yes, I know," Palpatine informed him, with a bite to his voice. And Vader was unsure if the Emperor was responding to his verbal information or his thoughts about his son.

 

"My son has gone to them."

 

Now that was interesting. "For what purpose?"  Palpatine quizzed, reaching out to gently stroke Vader's feelings, probing for deception. He found none, but he did find a fleeting impression of disquiet.

 

"To bring them to you. A gift, Master," the Sith Lord announced. "To prove his fealty to you, and to the Empire."

 

And just why did Vader find that thought so unsettling? "And do you trust his motives, My Lord?" Still the feather-like touch within the Force.

 

"I do not," he said immediately, for how could he trust the boy now? Now when the youth's footsteps were firmly on the path of darkness, now when he had travelled further down that path than even his father had dared to walk.

 

Palpatine pondered this statement, yellow eyes narrowing in anger. "You think he would betray us?" He spat at Vader.

 

"His designs are unclear, Master," Vader answered truthfully.

 

Palpatine was quiet; his attention turned elsewhere seeking out the younger Vader. He had known the boy still resisted, still fought against the teachings of his Emperor and father. He also knew the boy had been trying to find his own way through the shadows, trying to keep the glow of light from dimming further; not understanding that the more he tried, the more his steps took him beyond the penumbra of the Force into its very darkest depths. And this made him dangerous; the boy needed to be controlled, not let loosed - just yet.

 

 Palpatine was still, contemplative, considering the future. Then he smiled, his eyes glimmering with delight at the visions which played within. "Your son will return shortly," he told his servant with a chuckle. "And he will bring a guest. Meet them within the hanger bays, remove his prisoner from him and send him back to his fighter. That is his place, and he _will_ learn it."

 

Vader bowed low, wishing he had Palpatine's inner sight, feeling trapped and torn between his Emperor and his son.  "As you wish, my Master."

 

 

 

Han untangled himself from the unconscious body of the Imperial soldier and pushed himself to his feet. Breathing heavily, he glanced around at his squad, counting quickly to ensure they were all still with him. He turned to Chewie as the Wookiee climbed over a fallen log to reach him. "We'll need to move fast now, buddy." He looked around again, and frowned. "Where's Leia?"

 

Chewbacca barked loudly, gestured toward the forest.

 

Fear thickened the back of his throat, pooled coldly in his stomach. "She didn't come back?"  He glanced up as a shuttle craft crossed the sky.  "Shit, Chewie! Come on!"  He started to run in the direction Leia had taken. He couldn't lose her again, couldn't lose her to...

_...Luke...._

 

Han dismissed the name, the image of his young friend. "Take the squad ahead," he called to his second in command. "We'll meet at the shield generator at oh three hundred.  Artoo, Threepio with me!"  And he and Chewbacca disappeared into the forest.

 

"Oh, dear!" wailed the protocol droid, before turning to his counterpart. "And you said it was pretty here!"

 

 

 

Sohn chose to fly the shuttle craft himself and ignored the pilot as he sat silently beside him. Flying gave him something to focus on, to divert his mind, to channel his energies into a task rather than reflection on what had happened on the Death Star. Still, however, his body trembled; his hands still tingled from the power they had conducted. After leaving his father, he had gone to his own quarters, had had to resist running through the corridors. He had been agitated, full of nervous excitement, senses fully stimulated by the incident and by his father's permission to go Endor. And as the doors slid closed behind him, he had quickly stripped from his flight suit and donned the plain, black Imperial dress uniform he preferred.

 

_Leia... he was going for Leia!_

 

He had lifted the mask and helmet, stared at the black facade the Emperor made him wear to hide his features, and smiled, wondering what his Alliance friends...

 

_...friends?_

 

...had thought when they first learned of Sohn Vader. Had they felt horror at the emergence of another Vader? Had his existence strengthened their resolve?

 

_...they know you...._

 

He had shrugged the wandering thought away. How could they possibly know him? Skywalker had died, defeated and lost in front of billions, a humiliating end. Sohn Vader had been introduced months later, features hidden from prying eyes - not even his own men had seen his face. That privilege was the Emperor's and Vader's alone.

 

_...she knows you..._

He had put them on, both mask and helmet fitting snugly, comfortably and for the first time he welcomed the disguise. Welcomed being hidden as he hooked his lightsaber to his belt and left his rooms. Welcomed being concealed as he worked his way through the battle station to the shuttle bay; for his emotions ran wild, his spirit danced with anticipation and strength, but his mask's features would remain passive and composed to all who looked upon him. Only his father seemed to know differently, and soon so would the Emperor.

 

"Shuttle Scandium," Endor Control greeted him, pulling him from his thoughts. "Proceed on approach vector zero zero one-two for landing zone One. Welcome to Endor, Lord Commander Vader. Your men will be waiting for you."

 

"Thank you," he answered, gruffly, steering the shuttle into the given flight path, watching the moon glow bright in the deepness of space. He opened himself to the Force, reached out and caressed its living presence, searching for one, searching for her and...

 

_... the light was dimmed, tinged with.... anger, impatience, fear... and.... annoyance...._

 

... Sohn withdrew in surprise. The Princess's feelings were a little wild, a little out of sorts. She seemed anxious, wary and a somewhat afraid.  He smiled as he brought the shuttle down onto the landing pad and shut down the engines. Perhaps the Rebel incursion was not going as planned. He drew himself from the chair, glanced at his companion. "Stay with the shuttle," he commanded.

 

"As you wish, My Lord," the man assented quietly.

 

Sohn ignored him, trying to focus his thoughts forward. He strode across the landing pad toward the elevators, entered as the doors swept open to admit him. He had to push back his urgency, temper his impatience and his stomach purled with anticipation as the lift dropped to ground level.  There was something..... someone... waiting...

 

The doors opened and a young Lieutenant stepped forward to greet Sohn, behind him, assembled in the corridor, stood a contingent of stormtroopers. "My Lord Commander," he sounded excited, eager. The younger Vader walked on not breaking his stride for the man, nor for the packing containers piled to the side of the hallway which the Lieutenant had to carefully skirt around before catching up with his superior. "I have assembled the men as ordered. However, a few moments ago a speederbike patrol returned with a prisoner, and…”

 

Sohn stopped and turned his mask to face the man, dismay settling bitter in his stomach. "A prisoner? Where are they now?"  This wasn’t what he wanted, this wasn’t what he had planned for.

 

The Lieutenant gestured to the troopers. "Bring her forward."

 

_...her..._

 

And Sohn glanced to the soldiers as they parted, as one pulled a small figure, clad in green with tousled hair and bound hands, from among the white armour.

 

_...Leia!_

 

He had to temper his sudden urge to run to her, had to pull back the wide grin that threatened to spill onto his face. He wanted to reach out to touch her smooth, dirt smudged cheek. He wanted to brush back the strands of hair that fell over her face. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and draw her close, to lose himself in her presence and her love for him, her love for...

 

_Luke?_

 

His eyes were drawn to her's. And he saw her questions, her puzzlement. He saw her assessment of him, the image of the man before her more familiar to her as a Vader than the Skywalker she knew.

 

_...she knew him..._

 

"My Lord," the officer continued. "We believe she may be the Princ...."

 

Sohn found his voice. "I am aware of who she is. Our Emperor and my father will be most pleased, Lieutenant."  He kept his stare on the princess. "Leave her with me; I shall deliver her to the Death Star myself. Take the troopers to where she was captured. Her companions cannot be far, conduct a search and bring them to me."

 

"Yes, sir!" He turned with the soldiers; lead them from the corridor leaving the two alone.

 

Sohn swallowed, suddenly nervous and unsure, feeling like an infatuated farm boy stumped into sudden silence at the sight of his Princess...

 

_"I'm Luke Skywalker. I'm here to rescue you."_

 

... and now he would be forced to deliver her back to where he had found her.

 

Leia watched the dark figure closely. This man radiated power; her own raw Force senses tingling in his presence. She could feel his strength, his barely restrained emotions that drifted around her, tentatively caressing her feelings.  He was as tall as Luke, but his build seemed slighter; muscles trim and tight, but despite this Leia knew he would be physically more powerful than she. But his voice; hoarse and rough, was not Luke's, and she briefly wondered if they had been wrong in assuming this man was their lost Jedi. But, then she noticed the swallow, sensed the hesitation and she knew. She stared at the bland Vader mask, at the exposed chin and mouth, trying to see her friend below its surface, and fought the urge to speak and break the quiet first.

 

"Welcome to Endor, your Highness," Sohn finally greeted, briefly bowing his head. "I regret that we have not met before now. I am...."

 

"I know who you are," she told him quietly and firmly, with a hint of anger colouring her words. How dare he, of all people, do this to them!

 

A slight smile curled his lips. “Of course you do,” he agreed, and he wondered what his agreement was to; that she knew he was Sohn Vader, or that he had been Luke Skywalker. It pleased him that she thought she knew him, it relieved him and yet still he was filled with a hollow sadness.  She was so close, yet so out of reach.

 

Leia heard the sorrow in his voice and stepped forward, the question spilling from her before she could stop herself.  But, she needed to know, she needed the truth. As much for herself as for Luke. “Is he really your father?”

 

The question seemed to surprise him and, for a moment, his head dipped as he looked to the floor. Leia had seen this movement before, recognised a moment of vulnerability, Luke often reacted this way when asked a question he found difficult to answer.

 

The question had startled him, coming so soon in their dialogue, and he hesitated once more. But he could only answer with the truth. “Yes,” he drew himself up, caught her eye and dared her to say more.

 

Leia stepped back from him, staggered back from the truth she could hear in his voice, that she could feel. Vader was his father, Luke was her brother and so… She was the daughter of Darth Vader. She’d had time to think of this, time in which to prepare herself for this awful confirmation and still it caught her unawares. Nausea rose in her throat, acid gall flooded her mouth and she gagged on the truth; her self-esteem, her identity ground under the heel of honesty.

 

Sohn caught her arm, pulled her back, alarmed at her reaction. He could feel the Princesses unguarded emotions; the horror and the disgust that washed through her, that threatened to swamp her. Her mind reeled and she tried to fight his touch, tried to wrench her arm from his grip. Her eyes, stricken by the truth, searched his mask for something familiar. He didn’t understand why the reality of who his sire was should abhor the Princess and so he acted instinctively; he held her to calm her.

 

He was too strong and she was caught. She fought to composed herself; to be the senator she once was, and she looked to him, saw nothing of Luke in the visor. She reached a palm to touch his chin, to feel something of her friend - her brother - other than the Vader darkness that threatened to envelop them both.  “We’ve missed you.”

 

He flinched from her touch, from her words. He released her and moved away. “I’m afraid you are confusing me with someone else, your Highness.”  He told her coolly, his tones betraying nothing of his turmoil. He had wanted her touch, had wanted to feel her warm palm on his face. It was been so long since he had felt such tenderness and its allure was so tempting, but they were too close to Vader, too close to Palpatine. They would know, they would feel his moment of weakness.

 

She stepped towards him again, swallowing her disquiet at their heritage. “Luke,” she persisted. “This isn’t you… this isn’t what you wanted. I have no idea what happened to you after Hoth, but on Bespin Vader used us to….”

 

A smile grew on the exposed lips. He knew what she was trying to do, appealing to Skywalker, begging a cold, dead youth to save her.  “I am not who you believe me to be.”

 

“You’re Luke Skywalker,” Leia told him firmly.

 

“Skywalker is dead, Princess. Surely you saw the broadcast? “

 

“I saw,” she said, sadly. “And I grieved for you, and I’m still grieving for you. Luke, I don’t know what has happened to you, I don’t know what they did to you, what you must have suffered. I…”

 

_… a trembling hand reaching in darkness, blood blotching the skin. And screaming… begging… voices in my head, all the time… all the time…. Pain searing through me… cackling laughter… and…._

_“You are my son!”_

 

He grimaced and stepped back from her, closed off the brief surge of memories from those long ago months. He would not recall that time, he could not stumble now. His thoughts had to remain clear and focused.

 

“Han is with me, Luke. And Chewbacca,” Leia continued, seeing him falter and pressing her advantage. “Wedge is flying Red leader. He recognised you - because you purposely gave yourself away. You wanted us to know you, Luke.” She hesitated, waiting for a reply, but he was quiet. Taking comfort that he had not denied her words she plunged on. “Luke, we…I can help you come back to us.”

 

_Come back…_

 

If only he could, if only he could go back, go back to where his decisions were made and make them different.

 

_And where would he go back to?  To when the droids had arrived at the farm - ask Uncle Owen not to choose the blue one?  Or to when he had agreed to go to Alderaan with Ben?  Perhaps to the Hoth battle and after, make up his mind to ignore Ben’s order to go to Dagobah. Or decide to stay with Yoda and complete his training. Or on Bespin, to go after Leia, instead of Vader. Or refuse the Emperor, refuse to bow and be subjected to more torture….._

_….but they wouldn’t let me die, they wouldn’t leave me alone….all the time….always aware…._

 

… _come back.  It was an alluring thought. They could walk out of here now. Disappear into the forest. No-one could stop him. He could go back. Back with Leia. Back to Han and the others; his squad, the Alliance…_

_…leave them. Leave his father and the Emperor. Abandon them to their darkness…_

_… **Stay and be safe. Stay and find strength…**_

 

_…abandon it all to the dark…_

 

He drew himself back, baulked at the simple choice he faced.  There was no going back. The decisions were made; this was his path. This was his destiny, and he would not let the Princess turn him from it. This was the only way now. He drew in a breath. “Thank you for giving me details of your companions, your Highness,” he stated smoothly, as his feelings cooled. “My father had warned me you would not willingly give us information, it seems he was wrong.”

 

Leia blanched at the cruel words, at the reminder of her ordeal at Vader’s hands so few years before…

 

_…my father…_

 

“However,” Sohn continued, ignoring the feelings which flared from the Princess; the sudden terror of her memories, and dread for her future, “this is neither the time, nor the place for such a discussion…”

 

“Luke,” Leia stepped forward again, sounding a little desperate, a little distraught.  “You don’t have to do this; you don’t have to take me to them.”

 

He paused for a moment as though considering her words, and a long ago memory surged to the fore….

 

_“And sacrifice Han and Leia?”_

_“If you honour what they fight for? Yes.”_

 

He had to remain calm; he had to draw in his strength for the battle ahead. He had known they would come.  He had known he would be confronted by these choices - that was one of the reasons he had come to her, one of the reasons he had sought her out.  To test himself, to gauge his readiness for the fight ahead.

 

_…to have her…to hold her… to keep her safe from the coming storms…_

 

He looked to Leia, took comfort from her presence.  His choice made. Nothing could dissuade him, nothing would disconcert him, now. Not his father and not….

 

“I went to the farm,” she said softly, feeling his gaze upon her, feeling his resolve and knew that she had failed. This was her last resort, her only way of reaching the man she knew lay buried within the Vader before her.  This wasn‘t how she had wanted to tell him. “I saw what they left.”

 

“It is time to leave, your Highness,” he broke in wanting to stop her, not wanting old wounds to split open. He could feel his father’s probing feelings, sense his father’s growing frustrations. “My father grows impatient.”  He took her arm, but she pulled back.

 

“No, Luke!” she snapped, angrily. This time he wouldn’t obstruct her, this time she would say her piece and to hell with their father’s impatience.

 

He caught those feelings, caught… something which stirred in his belly, something which caused panic to flutter where once there was calm.  “What?” he rasped, trying to grasp the trailing edges of her thoughts.

 

“I thought I might find you there, find something of you,” she was quiet again recalling her disappointment at not sensing her friend within his home.

 

“Leia… please….” And despite the rough tones; that did sound like Luke.

 

“I didn’t find you, Luke, but I did find us…”

 

His father was there, his presence growing as Leia spoke. He tried to block him, tried to block her, but she continued oblivious to the dark curiosity.

 

“I found a holo and some documents from the end of the Clone Wars, hidden in your guardians’ room.  A woman and two babes, the papers told of your birth and of your twin sister’s birth…”

 

“I have no…. I…. Skywalker has no sister!” Stunned, he stumbled over his words, fighting his swelling fear, fighting Vader’s consciousness which slammed into him, powered by a disturbing triumph.

 

_…sister?…_

 

“You do, Luke. I’m your sister.”

 

“No,” he groaned as though in pain.  He staggered back from her. “Leia…no!”  The truth of her words caused heavy dread to gather within him, thick and disruptive. Terror tightly twisted around him and for the first time in many months his fear was not for himself, but for her…

_…His sister…_

_…My daughter…_

 

…and he felt his father retreat from him. Felt Vader’s crowing delight, felt his victory, felt his father’s…

 

_…horror and guilt, for he had subjected Leia to…_

 

…possessiveness and obsession extend to embrace her, too.

 

“No!” he cried aloud, staring upward.  “You cannot have her!”

 

“Luke?”  Leia stepped forward, again reaching to touch him. She had felt something happening, had sensed feelings of pleasure and horror, but her Force talent was untapped and still new to her. 

 

He opened his eyes, stared at her through the mask as fury ripped through him. How could she be so stupid, so naïve, how could she endanger herself so? How could she think to come here and try to turn him from his destiny with words which made no sense, with words which somehow were still so true, so painful?  He batted her hands away, turned from her pained expression and lifted the helmet and mask from his face.  He threw them at her and instinctively she caught them, held them.

 

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, facing her. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

 

She looked at him; saw the cropped dark blond hair, the paleness of his face tinged with the blush of anger, saw the familiar curves of his face.  But it was his eyes in which she saw the most detail. Cobalt blue and vibrant with his temper; so full of pain and torment. So full of power, so deep and dark. There was little in them which reminded her of Luke. And for the first time she wondered if her brother had truly been lost to them.

 

Sohn fought for control. It was becoming too hard; there were too many pressures upon him, too much for him to take on board. His fragile command over events slipping easily from his grasp.  It had all been so clear before, he had known what to do, had known even when he had arrived and sensed her presence. But now…

 

_…sister…_

 

The knowledge churned within him, creating a squall of torturous emotions. He didn’t know what to do now, didn’t know how to react, and didn’t know where he should turn. He needed some time; he needed the peace and solace of the Force in which to clear his thoughts. But the Force had deepened and darkened around him like an impending storm and he could feel his powers flaming, building, begging release.

 

He turned from her, reached out with his arm and, with a roar of grief and anger; he sent the stacked packing crates tumbling up the corridor to smash against the elevator doors.  The princess took a startled step backwards.

 

“Luke?” she questioned hesitantly, suddenly afraid of this familiar stranger. Suddenly understanding how dangerous and unstable Luke had become.

 

  “You have no idea what you’ve done!” he shouted, breathing heavily his need for release barely sated. He kept his back to her, his voice breaking through his throat.  “You don’t know the damage you have caused.”

 

“Luke, I only…”

 

“He knows!” he snarled, suddenly turning around. “He felt it as I felt it. Don’t you understand? Vader knows!” He wilted a little, shoulders slumping as though defeated.  “And I have to take you there,” he whispered thickly, “to our father.”

 

Leia looked to the black mask in her hands and was dismayed to find she was shaking.  She drew in a breath trying to steady herself. There were things happening here she didn’t understand - couldn’t understand; due to her lack of knowledge of and, training in, the Force. She could only be guided by her feelings, her instinct; by what she felt was right.  Luke needed her; needed her support and her compassion, needed her strength, her acceptance of their relationship to each other and to Darth Vader. She had to stop fighting him, had to stop trying to persuade him to cease being who he had become. He was struggling with burdens too complex for her to grasp, and she would not force herself to become another to him.

 

She carefully stepped up to her brother and placed the helmet and mask into his hands. She smiled at the surprise and the suspicion on his face. “My Lord Commander Vader,” she said quietly, but with as much authority as she could muster.  “If that is what you must do, then I am your willing prisoner.”

 

 

 

On board the Death Star, in the middle of a briefing, Darth Vader had turned from Jerjerrod as his son’s storming emotions battered at his senses. He tilted his head, shifting his attention from the prattling Moff to his son, curious to know what was happening to further disturb the boy. Sohn was unsure, tight with suppressed feelings of…

 

_..love… wonderment… grief._

 

He gently probed on, carefully evading Sohn’s hastily erected mental defences, working around the buffers the boy tried to throw up. The shields were weak, Sohn distracted and torn, and Vader moved swiftly through to the core of Sohn’s disquiet.

 

_…Leia!_

 

 So it was the Princess Organa who stirred Sohn so; who brought forth familiar echoes of suppressed emotions and memories. And, there was more… There was a fear, a terror deeper than even Palpatine had caused within the boy. His curiosity fired; Vader explored further, swimming through the churning passions, easily picking up Sohn’s thoughts and…

 

_..Sister!_

 

Astounded Vader spun around to face the view port and the Endor moon beyond.

 

_His sister?_

 

There had been a second child!

 

A daughter!  Secreted away and hidden from him as they had tried to do with Luke. The Jedi had failed with the boy, almost succeeded with the girl. Triumph rose within him, a dark satisfaction settling within at the knowledge that Obi-Wan Kenobi had failed in his attempts to keep his children from him.  A son, and a daughter! Twins!

 

_Leia!_

 

_My daughter!_

 

Pride swelled at images of his other child; she was so strong willed, unshakable in her beliefs, stubborn and…

 

His jubilation suddenly dropped, felled by a sickening realisation; by memories of a young woman, no more than a girl, being held down by black gauntlets as a dark droid worked. Of a child defeated by grief at the loss of her home, her planet, and who still refused to yield.

 

Vader closed his eyes behind his mask shutting out the sight of the sanctuary moon, but unable to close off the images of his daughter and his actions towards her; images which further reminded him of his son and the tortures Luke had endured at Palpatine’s command, and at his father’s hands.

 

_My children…_

 

_My son…_

 

Vader withdrew from Luke’s consciousness, withdrew from the confused and tormented feelings. Luke’s hatred was so strong, self-loathing nestling deep within him; a dangerous and destructive bed-mate.  The boy’s anger was like a whirlwind, tumultuous, raging, and barely constrained by his tenuous control. Vader knew the pressures were growing within his son, knew Luke’s emotional and mental defences were crumbling and that the boy now took pleasure from darkness where he once abhorred it. He could feel Luke’s ache, the need for release and he knew that Palpatine was…

 

… horror rippled through Vader. Palpatine! The Emperor would surely have felt Luke’s raging feelings, have picked up the confusion and the fear.

 

Vader tentatively reached out to find his master’s focus and was surprised to find his Emperor at peace. Palpatine’s concentration was turned from them, drawn away from Luke, away from the events taking the place. The Force was drawn darkly around the Sovereign, strong and vibrant and yet…

 

_…how strange it was that Palpatine seemed blinded, seemed ignorant of the currents that rushed through the Force, that swelled and crested with his son’s emotions, with the passions which Luke seemed willing to embrace…_

 

Perplexed, and unsure of the intentions of the Force, Vader turned to leave the control centre of the Death Star.  His daughter’s existence belonged only to Luke and himself. His son’s growing volatility, his diminishing control and unpredictability concerned him.  That the Emperor was unaware of it; pleased him. 

 

“My Lord Vader! “ Jerjerrod called, bewildered by his superior’s abrupt move to depart. “The report on the Primary Weapon…. If the Rebels are coming as his Majesty has indicated. Then surely we have to….”

 

“We will proceed as the Emperor has instructed,” Vader rumbled, barely hiding the irritation he felt.

 

Jerjerrod bobbed his head in compliance. “Of course, My Lord.”

 

Vader swept from room, heading directly for the hanger bays.   He was eager to meet Luke’s shuttle as it landed, eager to greet his daughter. Eager to see how much his Master’s myopia hid from him; eager to set in motion the events that would shape the entire galaxy.


	11. A Light Foreshadowed Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sohn Vader delivers his sister to their father while Han Solo leads the ground assault against the Imperial bunker on Endor and the Rebel fleet arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember this was written before the prequels.
> 
> All previous disclaimers apply.

 

**A Light Foreshadowed**

Part Three

 

 

Han ducked too late, and the branch Chewbacca had pushed aside sprang back as the Wookiee passed and smacked the Corellian on the forehead.  He stumbled backward, hand grabbing out for something to stop him falling. “Watch what you’re doin’, buddy!” he grumbled as he righted himself, and wiped at the thin scratch of blood on his forehead.

 

Chewbacca didn’t answer. The Wookiee had stopped a few paces ahead and was crouched among the grass and the ferns looking at a dark shape.  Fear suddenly clogged Solo’s throat as he ran to his friend’s side.

 

“Chewie?”

 

Chewbacca stood, stepped aside and softly grunted. Solo felt cool relief flood through him; it was a wrecked speeder bike, nothing more. There was no mangled rider among the debris, no sign of the princess.  He was relieved that he had not found her here, but still concerned at her absence. He glanced around at the surrounding forest wondering if she had been thrown clear and was lying somewhere nearby unable to call out. 

 

Han looked around at the droids, at Artoo Detoo’s swivelling head and chattering noise. “What’s he saying, Threepio?”

 

“Uh, General, sir,” the golden droid responded with his customary nervous prattle. “Artoo says there are no human life signs nearby, apart from your own. He does admit, however, to be pi…”

 

“I hope she’s alright,” Han voiced his concern ignoring Threepio. Leia’s disappearance had already taken up time, taken them away from their objective. He knew Leia herself would be unhappy with him for running off to find her, for diverting from their orders, but he couldn’t have left her with out trying. He had to find her, had to let her know…

 

“Oh, My!” Threepio cried and Artoo Detoo screeched.

 

Han and Chewbacca turned together startled, expecting see a squad of storm troopers descending on them. Instead the undergrowth around them rustled and moved. Han gripped his blaster tightly, Chewbacca raised his bow caster.

 

“What is it?” the Corellian questioned.

 

Artoo whistled and Threepio translated. “Natives, I believe, sir. Artoo has picked up a dozen or so life signs around us.”

 

Whispered chattering rose from the bushes.

 

Han squinted, thought he spotted something brown and furry. He focused, aimed with his blaster a few inches above the quivering foliage and pulled off a warning shot.  There was burst of squealing, short staccato babbling and, to Han’s amusement, small dark forms began fleeing in all directions.  He grinned and holstered his weapon.

 

Chewbacca grumbled beside him.

 

“Helped us?” he questioned, in surprise. He gestured at the retreating animals. “How could they have helped us?”

 

There was a sound from above that drew all of their attentions. Han glanced up as a shuttle rose into the sky, passed overhead and veered sharply upward toward the overhanging Death Star.  And he suddenly knew where Leia was and knew who had her.

 

“I hope she’s alright,” Han repeated, watching the shuttle’s after-burn fade in the early evening sky, silently hoping that Sohn Vader still had some essence of Luke Skywalker within him, or else he may never see his princess again.  “We’ll camp down here tonight, Chewie. Pick up with the squad in the morning.”  Then he sat against the trunk of the nearest tree, drew his coat around him and prepared himself for a long night and an even longer day ahead.

 

 

 

Leia fidgeted with the tight binders around her wrists, trying to ease the bite of them while knowing they would be the least of her pains in the coming hours.  She was afraid, terribly afraid on many levels. She was afraid for the Alliance attack as she had seen the number of troops on Endor - so many more than the Bothan information had divulged. She was afraid for Han and the others and the consequences for them when they attempted to take out the shield generator; it would seem the Empire knew they were coming and were prepared. The next few hours might well see the end of the Rebellion.

 

Then she was afraid for herself, afraid of what she would face once more within an Imperial cell. Afraid of Vader - her father - and his torture droid and the memories of her previous incarceration were very close to the surface, kept at bay only by her fear of Luke, her fear for Luke.

 

He had looked so strangely at her when she had handed him his helmet and mask, when she had spoken to him, when she had acknowledged him as Vader.  His eyes had met hers, disbelief flaring within them, satisfaction and distrust of her actions, her words. He had looked away from her and she was sure she saw gratitude and regret before their contact had broken, before he donned his disguise again and turned back to her hidden and aloof once more.

 

Leia glanced toward the cockpit where Luke had chosen to spend the journey to the Death Star; leaving her in the care of two troopers. All she could see was the back of his head, all she could hear was his course voice speaking to the Death Star Command Station. And she grieved for him; for the youth she remembered, for the man he should have been.

 

“Acknowledged,” Sohn confirmed his approach, focusing on piloting the shuttle. Watching beyond the ship as the Death Star grew to fill the view port, as the slits of docking bays became visible.  He could feel the princess watching him, could feel her trepidation, her pain and concern.  Leia…

 

_…my sister…_

 

… didn’t understand, perhaps would never grasp what it was he had been trying to do and why he’d had to adapt to survive. Why he had accepted…

 

_….never accepted it… had it forced upon me…._

 

… his father’s and his Emperor’s calling. She saw him as a victim, as a casualty lost to war. And her pity sat rough with him, stirred his pride. He had survived in circumstances where lesser beings would have crumpled. He had resisted, he had fought them and he had…

 

… _screamed in the night. He had been chased from the light, kept from its brilliance with fetters of darkness. He had kneeled to them in veneration, learned from them and used their shade to hide his own desires. He had…_

…emerged stronger and more powerful than any one of his teachers had ever predicted.  And yet, despite his strength, despite all he had learned, all he had fought and struggled to achieve hung in the balance because she was here…

 

… _you wanted her here. You wanted her near. You lifted your hands to your father because he dared question you. You wanted her…_

_…but not like this…_

 

…not as a representative of the Alliance, or a princess of a lost kingdom. But as just Leia. Leia his friend, his support and foundation.

 

And now she was his sister.

 

And his sister had accepted him as a Vader.

 

Sohn briefly closed his eyes against the pain of his sister’s words, hands uncharacteristically trembling as he worked the shuttle’s controls. It was so close now, everything he had prepared for these last few months was so close. He could almost reach out and touch it, grasp it and call it his own. It was there, but it could so easily be lost. It could be wrenched from his hands if his control lapsed, as the paths of others clashed with his own. He had to maintain his control, he could not give in to his feelings, to the temptation of the Force has he had done with his father…

 

_…you bested him. You unsettled him. He feared you…_

 

_…it felt…..good…._

 

…as he had done with Leia.

 

At first he was unsure of her actions, suspicious of her motives for dropping her arguments that he was still Luke Skywalker. And then he had understood, and with his understanding came more pain as he saw himself through his sister’s eyes.  She had conceded to make things easier for him, to lift the burden of guilt he was carrying…

 

_…there is no guilt…_

 

…to relieve some pressure and tension within him. To help him focus. And this had made him at once thankful and remorseful and he was surprised he could still have such feelings, such…

 

_…weaknesses…_

 

…a capacity to still about care what the princess thought of him. And then the disgust descended, anger spooled within as he reminded himself of his duty to his masters and to the Empire.  He had drawn his errant feelings in…

 

_…lest they sense them…_

 

…stilled his disquiet and lead her to the shuttle vowing to himself to keep close to her, to…

 

_… shield her. To give her the safety I was denied…_

…guide her steps when she was taken to Palpatine and save her the agonies he had endured, show her the futility of resisting their wishes, and teach her the virtues of quiet surrender. He smiled as the shuttle entered the docking bay, as he expertly steered the ship to the landing area, but his smile faltered when he saw his father waiting with a contingent of troopers and loose panic beat in his chest.

 

He reached out tentatively and touched Vader’s thoughts and feelings needing to know why his father was there, but he only found the solid barrier of his father’s shields.  All was still and silent; concealed. But Sohn knew the Dark Lord was not there for him. His father was there for Leia. 

 

And hatred filled him, a loathing so strong it crawled over him like a living beast; claws piercing and shredding as it moved leaving bleeding revulsion in its wake. This man - his father - had taken from him everything he once had, everything he once loved and cherished.  He had been ripped from his childhood, torn from the Alliance and used and twisted to meet Vader’s and Palpatine’s expectations. And now that he had found her again, he was taking Leia from him.

 

There had been moments when he had thought Vader was having doubts, had felt hope for things to be different, had felt sorrow from the elder man. However, since the Emperor had arrived his father had withdrawn from him, had become cold and detached having little contact with Sohn aside from those times when they had no choice but come together. But now he had come of his own will to meet the shuttle; not for his son, but for his daughter.

 

_Another light to darken._

 

This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t what he had thought would happen. She wasn’t supposed to be captured, she wasn’t supposed to be taken to Vader; she wasn’t supposed to be his sister. He had only wanted to go to…

 

_…protect her. Protect them…_

 

… to keep the troopers busy. To keep the Rebels….

 

_…safe…_

…occupied on the moon while he consolidated his position.  Now, how could he do this? How could he hand her to their father as Vader had handed him to Palpatine? How could he stand aside and allow Leia to suffer as he had suffered?

_…my sister…_

 

And he grimaced at the sudden images which flooded him; Han laughing as he twirled a shrieking and protesting princess around, slipping on the ice floors of Hoth and both of them landing in a heap. He heard himself chuckle. Saw Han grin up at him.

_“Just wait ‘til your birthday tomorrow, kid.”_

He wanted to close his eyes against the memories, push them out of his mind, but he couldn’t; he had to bring the shuttle in, had to focus on his father’s waiting figure.

 

Twins. They were twins; and if their birthdays were correct then Leia was the first born.  And this stirred more anger; resentment. Had Obi-Wan known this? Had he known Leia was his sister as surely as he had known that Vader was his father?  The Jedi had sat impassively as Leia had given her message through Artoo, had bid him to go to Alderaan. Had used the news that his father had been a Jedi, had used his infatuation with the princess’ image to cajole him, had used his guardians’ deaths to spur him on and set his feet on a path that Luke…

 

_…Luke?…_

 

…had never considered possible for himself. A pilot, maybe. But a Jedi Knight?  And Ben had allowed him to make the decision in anger, in grief and with the desire for revenge.

 

He had been led so easily through lies and deceit, had wanted to believe and learn and had nurtured his desire to face the man he thought responsible for his pains. And all the while the focus of his misguided vengeance had already killed him; Kenobi.  All of this could have been avoided if the truth had been told from the very beginning, then they could have made their choices based on facts instead of fabrications and he wouldn’t be here, she wouldn’t be here.  He wouldn’t have to go through with this, wouldn’t have to betray everything he once believed in.

 

He brought the shuttle down, settled it easily into the bay as he closed off his thoughts, silenced his conflicting emotions and rose from the pilots chair, turned and entered the passenger area to where Leia sat, tiny between towering storm troopers. “Your Highness,” he greeted gesturing to the opening hatch. “If you please.”

 

The princess straightened her back. Her features calm, but her eyes heavy. She did not look his way as she stepped in front of him, walked before him, leading the way to meet their waiting sire.

 

Sohn could feel the Dark Lord’s fulfilment as Vader briefly bowed his head. “Your Highness,” he welcomed. “It has been too long.”

 

“Not long enough, Vader,” Leia snapped, injecting a fury she did not feel into her voice.

 

Vader smiled at her boldness. His daughter was so like her mother, both in looks and in temperament, and yet he had never seen it before. He had been ignorant of Leia’s true origins and had never once considered that she had been anything other than Organa’s child. But he should have known, he should have seen, should have felt the Force so strong within and questioned it. But all he had seen was a Rebel hunched and afraid on the sleeping platform of a cell, yet still so resilient and defiant. And he had tried to crush her. It pleased him now that he had not achieved that aim.

 

He turned to his son. Luke had also displayed defiance, had refused to bend to pressure, had proved courageous and bold. But Luke’s integrity and innocence could not compete with the intensity of his anger and hatred and his light had been lost to the shadows that even now grew darker. Luke was struggling mentally and emotionally with stresses he had placed upon himself rather than those from his service to the Empire. Palpatine knew something was building, could feel the shifting in the Force and was about to add to those demands.

 

“You have done well, Commander,” he told the boy, feeling Luke’s surprise at the rare praise.

 

“Thank you, father,” he acknowledged with a tilt of his head, unsure of his father’s intentions but playing along.

 

“You are to return to your squad,” he paused, briefly savouring the disbelief and anger that rolled from his son. “Immediately.”

 

Sohn tensed at the order, glanced to Leia as she watched the exchange with open curiosity. “Father,” he blurted as consternation coiled in his belly. “I thought I would…”

 

“The Emperor commands it,” Vader stated firmly, feeling the chill of fear flood his son.

 

Sohn swallowed trying to fight through his rushing emotions, the white noise in his head, the nausea that swamped his body, pushed at his throat making him want to gag. He drew in a breath, maintained his composure. “But father, the Princess…”

 

“…is to be held until his Majesty wishes to see her.” Vader explained, he gestured to the waiting troopers who stepped forward and surrounded the princess, and the Dark Lord instantly understood why the Emperor had given Luke that order. A darkness so deep, so black, descended over his son. A wrath so hot it was scalding, hatred so strong that Vader had never felt so chilled, and a fear, a terror that embedded itself deeply within his son’s soul. Terror, not for himself, but for his sister.

 

_My daughter!_

 

Vader could see the slight tremors that ran through Luke’s body betraying his rushing emotions, his barely controlled powers. The boy’s fingers twitched nervously over the lightsaber hanging from his belt. And Vader briefly wondered why Luke held so dearly to the weapon, the blue blade that had once belonged to Anakin, when he could so easily have tossed it aside as he had all other feelings he once had for his father and constructed a new one more fitting to a Sith Lord.

 

“Father,” Sohn began, his voice hesitant and hoarse. He drew his eyes from Vader, looked to Leia. “My squad does not need me. My place should be here with my father and my Emperor.”

 

_And my sister._

 

The princess returned his gaze, her eyes dark, face pale with apprehension as she realised she had become a pawn to be played by Palpatine against her brother and her father. Against them, and between them. 

 

“You would question the Emperor’s commands?” Vader rumbled the question, his voice dark, heavy with warning. He had asked a similar question of his son some weeks ago, had reached out and offered the boy a destiny so much brighter than the one he now faced. They had openly acknowledge Palpatine’s fear of Luke, had openly voiced Rebellion. But Luke had chosen to retreat from his father, had chosen to hide his thoughts and feelings behind a veil of deception. Now the boy had a second chance to grasp the hand his father offered.

 

Sohn turned his eyes back to his father. He heard the warning in Vader’s tones, and humiliation burned at being questioned thus in front of lowly storm troopers, but beneath this Sohn could feel that peculiar flicker of light he had sense before.

 

_“Even now the Emperor fears you.”_

 

_“I know, father.”_

_“You could destroy him”_

_“That is not my place.”_

 

Their short exchange of words returned to him and he stared into Vader’s mask from behind his own, searching his father. The elder man nodded silently and the moment between them swarmed with sudden possibilities.  If he disobeyed the Emperor now and remained on the Death Star - where he needed to be, where he had planned to be - Palpatine’s retribution would be swift and severe and Leia may be caught within it. If he obeyed the emperor and left the station and joined his squad to battle the Alliance, Leia would be alone and all may be lost. He had not prepared himself for this; he had not seen the relationship with Leia. He had to focus, he had to silence his doubts. He could not allow the princess’s presence interfere with his destiny.

 

Sohn briefly closed his eyes seeking the sanctuary of the Force…

 

_…stay and be safe…_

 

…and opened them with his decision.

 

He bowed his head. “As the Emperor commands, my Lord,” he told Vader with a hint of a smile to his lips. “I am his faithful servant.”  Then he turned to Leia and bowed once more, ignoring her look of horror. “Your Highness, it was a pleasure…”  And he strode from the docking bay, back straight, exterior calm, nothing betraying the conflicting emotions of a few moments ago.

 

“Take the princess to the detention centre,” Vader addressed the soldiers as his son disappeared through the doorway.

 

Leia hesitated, wanting to say something, searching the ebony mask for some indication of the Dark Lord’s feelings. Luke had said Vader knew of their relationship; that he had felt it. But she could sense nothing and she knew from past experience that pleading with the Dark Lord merely resulted in further hurt. So she remained silent and allowed the troopers to nudge her forward. She walked with a similar carriage to her brother.

 

Vader watched the princess leave, watched the bay doors close at her back, and then he turned to contemplate the dormant shuttle. The Force had never felt as potent as now, had never resonated so strongly and he almost believed that if he reached out with his hand he would physically touch the power around him. Strands of the Force were gathering, binding, creating a nexus around them, a focal point and the Dark Lord was left with no illusion; this was where the balance of the Force, the fate of the galaxy, would be decided. And it hinged upon the decisions and actions of an unpredictable boy. Vader hoped he could guide Luke’s steps when the time came, that he could somehow counsel him in a way that he should have done when they first met. He had failed Luke then, he would not fail Luke now.

 

 

         

Palpatine opened his eyes, his piercing yellow irises shining in the darkness of the throne room.  The boy’s rage was pure and unadulterated, and Palpatine had drank deeply, feeding from it, savouring the taste of it as he had the flavour of the terror the boy first experienced when he fell from the carbonite block so many months before.  It was almost time, he could feel it; the Force was converging to this area, to him and to his disciples. The girl had provided the last catalyst he required and his hold on the galaxy would finally be secured.

 

_The girl… something about the girl… hidden…_

 

He smiled with pleasure ignoring the quiet inner voice. The girl was a means to an end, nothing more. He relaxed into his throne, taking in a long breath of cool air, gorging on the anger which flowed through the Force from the boy; the offspring held more potential than even his sire. When this day was done, young Skywalker’s fall would be complete and he would either be standing by his Emperor’s side, or lying dying at his Emperor's feet.

 

 

 

Wedge Antilles worked the pitch and roll pedals bringing his X-Wing into wide swoop under the medical frigate. He followed the Millennium Falcon as it flew past Akbar’s command ship to take up its position at the head of the fleet. 

 

The com crackled and Lando Calrissian’s voice broke through the static. “Admiral we’re in position. All fighters accounted far.”

 

“Proceed with the count down,” Ackbar replied, his voice slightly distorted by the com waves. “All groups assume attack co-ordinates.”

 

Wedge double checked his Nav-computer, looked to his scanners and scopes and smiled when he saw Red Squad in formation. He hoped that General Solo and the Princess Leia were successful or else the whole of the Alliance would die today. Command was taking a huge gamble to end this conflict based on the information that the Emperor was over seeing the construction of the Death Star. If the Emperor was there, then it stood that Vader would be there and, if the Dark Lord of the Sith was present, then logic told him Sohn Vader, Luke Skywalker, was also there.

 

Another reason why he hoped Solo and his group was successful; he didn’t relish fighting in a drawn out dogfight, didn’t relish firing on Imperial ships for fear that one of them was his friend. Luke had spared him in conflict and Wedge knew he may not be able to return the favour in the heat of battle.

 

“All craft, prepare to jump to hyperspace on my mark,” Ackbar’s voice broke into his thoughts, drawing him back to the moment at hand.

 

“All right,” Gold Leader responded. “Stand by.”

 

Wedge swallowed, adrenalin rushing as the signal was given, and he engaged his hyper-drive; all thoughts of Luke pushed from his mind.

 

 

It was early morning, the sun only just beginning to lift the mist from the forest floor as Han and Chewbacca lead the squad to the edge of a ridge overlooking the Imperial outpost. He stooped as he neared a fallen log and crouched behind it, signalling for the squad to do the same, and he peered over the log looking down at the landing platform and shield generator the Imperials had built in the valley below.

 

The droids came up behind him, Artoo tooting softly and Han looked to See Threepio for an explanation.

 

“Artoo says the entrance to the bunker is on the other side of that landing platform,” Threepio whispered, trying his best to hide himself in some nearby foliage.

 

Han nodded his understanding as Chewbacca quietly woofed beside him. The Corellian smiled tightly. “Yeah, I know Chewie, but you and me have got into a lot of places more heavily guarded than this.”

 

Chewie chuffed soft laughter as memories of those other places spilled into his mind.

 

Han turned his squad, “Let’s do this thing.”  His eyes settled on the nearest soldier. “Lantaff, take point.”

 

The young man came forward and the squad moved off toward their target.

 

 

 

Sohn Vader climbed into the cockpit of his TIE Interceptor and settled into the acceleration chair. He quickly strapped himself in, pulled his breathing apparatus from its setting and fixed it to his mask and his flight suit’s portable oxygen feed. Even here, with his squad, he was to hide his features, to stay apart from them. He was excluded from their camaraderie, viewed with fear and suspicion - just like his father.

 

_“I want to learn the ways of the Force, and become a Jedi like my father.”_

He wanted to discard that thought, the memory of his decision made in grief, the childish statement that had become so true. He had been so innocent then, so easily swayed by the glory of light.

 

And light had become his betrayer.

 

_This is light. This is pain._

 

Ben had ignored his pleas. He had reached out through the Force, through his pain, through the agony of Palpatine’s teachings, to his old master and the Jedi did not answer. Obi-Wan had remained silent to his cries, to his agony of body and spirit. He had sought the calm of the light and found only emptiness and silence. There was no hope, no comfort, no succour and only one path had been left before him. And still he made his own.

 

“Executor First Squad, this is Control.  Launch in thirty minutes.”

 

Sohn frowned, briefly. So soon.  “Acknowledged, Control. We’ll be ready”

 

The battle was about to begin; the Alliance fleet had left Sullust and he was being sent out against them. Sent away from Palpatine, from Vader, from his sister.  He needed to be on the Death Star, he needed to stand by his father and his Emperor, that is where he had planned to be, had wanted to be.  Before she had come. Before his designs had started to unravel and spool out of his own hands and into the hands of fate. 

 

He drew in a breath, soothing his feelings, pushing them back and shifted his focus to his task at hand. He ran through his pre-flight checks, engaged his engines. He could feel his squad’s anxiousness, the tense expectancy that precluded a battle; the fear of death was strong in many and he knew that before this day ended most would have that fear justified. However, only the deaths of three would truly see the end of this conflict and only Leia’s presence could prevent that from happening.

 

He could not sacrifice her to meet his own ends.

 

And now to protect her, he had to protect the Death Star, could not allow the Alliance through. His father had shown him this when he had taken his sister from him, when Vader had also shown him…

 

_…hope…_

 

…that to argue with Palpatine was pointless.

 

But, still, he was conflicted. Caught in the eye of the maelstrom, the Force twisting and funnelling around him teasing him with images of his past life, tormenting him with images of current events and tempting him with future possibilities.  The patterns of the Force shifted and heaved about him, and he had never felt so strong, so potent, so powerful. He had to maintain his control, had to temper his emotions to achieve his goal. For it could still be done.  There had to be another way.

 

But the Force held this vision back, refused to yield to his searching, his questioning and a quiet voice whispered at the back of his mind that no matter what actions he took now, there could only be one outcome and it was not the one he had hoped for. He was not the puppet master. He was the puppet, and only when he found the strength to cut his strings would his true destiny be revealed.

 

“First Squad, we are to Rendezvous with the Fleet on the other side of the Moon,” he ordered, his voice scrapping through his throat. “Prepare to launch on my mark.”  As his men acknowledged the order, he powered up the throttle, felt the energy ripple through his fighter as he eased the Interceptor out of the Death Star docking bay.

 

 

 

Leia could do little else but sit and wait for the cell door to lift open.  She stared at the familiar blank walls around her, the dim lights from overhead barely illuminating her prison.  It was an exact replica of her cell on the first Death Star. Then she had been waiting execution, bereft after the destruction of Alderaan, and had been rescued in a flurry of enthusiasm and gun fire.

 

Luke.

 

Leia smiled briefly at her memories of the wild and impromptu rescue; the sheer impudence that both Han…

 

_…Han!  What are you doing? Are you safe?…_

 

… and Luke had shown by merely strolling into the detention block to save her. A woman they had never met.  Luke had told her later about seeing the message she had programmed into Artoo and, to her amusement, he had blushed and stumbled his words when she pressed further trying to understand why he had felt compelled to place himself in so much danger for her.

 

She was touched by his actions, humbled by his simple courage and slightly embarrassed by his attraction to her. And she wondered if Luke had thought about these memories at all during their conversation on the Endor moon, if he was thinking of them now.

 

She stared at the door, waiting, anticipating it opening and she was afraid. Afraid it would slide open and admit Vader…

 

_… father…_

 

…and his droid. Afraid it would be Luke who stepped down into her cell to prod and question her. Afraid that the door would remain closed and never open, that she would be alone when her Alliance comrades were successful and the battle station disintegrated around her. There would be no rescue from this cell, no wild escape and she would suffer only the pain and death she had expected of that first one.

 

She fought to calm herself, fought to draw the strength she so required to face whatever the future yielded.

 

 

 

Crouching again in the foliage, Han surveyed the entrance of the Imperial Compound, the structure of the building that housed the shield Generator, the huge dish that loomed over them. There were six storm troopers that he could see; four on the ground, two in guard towers either side of the large doorway.  They needed to deal with the soldiers without raising an alarm or suspicion.

 

He turned to his squad, silently signalling individual soldiers and pairing them to their targets with a series of hand gestures. The men nodded their understanding and quietly fanned out along the edge of the forest.  Han lined his blaster sights on his own target as Chewie softly grunted encouragement behind him.

 

The sound of his shot was echoed by five others at exactly the same time and the Imperial troopers all crumpled silently to the ground.

 

Han was immediately on his feet and swiftly heading for the open door. “C’mon, Chewie!”   He paused at the entrance, staring into the dim interior. It was quiet. Too quiet and Han’s honed senses tingled with warning.   He turned to his companions searching for the droids.  “Threepio!” He whispered as loudly as he dared. “Anyone on Artoo’s sensors?”

 

The small droid scooted beside him, softly twittering and Threepio translated. “Nothing, General. Perhaps they have…”

 

Han waved him silent. This wasn’t right. This was too easy. But they had no choice, they had to move on for the fleet would be arriving within minutes.

 

 

 

 

Palpatine relaxed into his throne and closed his eyes. He smiled with pleasure, smiled at the sensations building within the Force; the tensions among his crew as the hour of battle fast approached, the darkness flowing from his elder apprentice beside him, the burning rage of the boy as he waited with the fleet for his old comrades to arrive.

 

Soon.

 

 

 

Wedge Antilles drew himself upright in his acceleration chair as his fighter nearer the attack co-ordinates. He checked his instruments, ran through his internal systems looking for last minute glitches that could affect his fighter’s performance in the battle. He grinned as the slow trickle of adrenalin he had felt through out the journey suddenly rushed his body; he was ready for this fight.

 

Three minute’s to reversion to normal space.

 

 

 

The Rebel squad stealthily worked its way through the Imperial complex. It remained deserted of all personnel and Han’s unease had grown by each passing moment. They reached a junction and Han paused, pressing himself against the wall with Chewbacca beside him.

 

“I don’t like this, Chewie,” he finally admitted and Chewie woofed in anxious agreement as Han rechecked his chrono. Almost time. He glanced behind him at his squad at the young lives he was leading into the very bowels of Imperial territory. 

 

“You ready?”

 

And Chewbacca growled softly, nodding.

 

“Let’s do this, then!”  He waved the squad forward and they flowed across the junction to the opposite blast door. Han hit the door release and the entrance lifted revealing the shield control room. The Rebels spilled into the room surprising the few Imperials stationed by the controls and the banks of computers. 

 

“Move! Move!” Han ordered, gesturing with his blaster. “Up against the wall!” he turned looking for his own men and the explosives they carried. “Charges!”

 

“Freeze!”

 

The barked command came from behind and in a fluid move Han caught the bag of charges thrown to him by his sergeant and redirected it toward the Imperial officer standing before the generator. It caught the man in the chest tumbling him over the railings and into the reactor. He screamed as he fell.  Han turned at the clattering of boot steps behind him, at the shouts of his men as they were overwhelmed by a flood of stormtroopers and found himself facing another officer, one whose blaster was inches from his chest.

 

“Rebel scum!”

 

And Han knew the attack was over before it had even begun.

 

 

 

“All Wings report in,” Lando Calrissian’s voice crackled over the com and Wedge tore his gaze away from the Death Star that loomed before them. He had been prepared for this. Of all the Rebel pilots he was the only one who had known what to expect and still he was appalled by the sight on the Empire’s terror weapon as it sat malignantly over the Endor moon.

 

_“Look at the size of that thing”_

 

He smiled briefly at his memory before pushing it away and focusing on the task at hand as he answered the call with all the coolness of a seasoned warrior. “Red Leader standing by. “

 

This Death Star was incomplete; this Death Star would not have the opportunity to cause the death and destruction of the first. This time there would be no Alderaan.

 

“Lock S-foils in attacks position,“ he ordered as he scanned the area using his eyes as well as his instruments. He frowned as something about the Death Star struck his as being odd.  It sat alone. There were no ships. No fighters. And only the shield generator protected it. If the Emperor was truly on board wouldn’t it be better protected?

 

“Break off the attack! The shield is still up.”

 

Wedge searched his instruments again at Calrissian’s warning. “I get no reading. Are you sure?”  And even as he said it he knew; the Empire had been expecting them.

 

“Pull up!” Calrissian called. “All craft pull up.”

 

Voices calling over the com filled his head as he pulled his craft away from the Death Star barely avoiding scrapping his foils on Red Two.

 

“Take evasive action! Green Group, stick close to holding sector MV-seven.” Ackbar’s voice sounded above the rest.

 

“…enemy ships in sector four-seven!”

 

“It’s a trap!”

 

It was a swarm, a cloud of TIE fighters screaming towards them and behind them, supporting them, an entire fleet of Star Destroyers. And then there was no time to think, no time plan and strategize. There was time only to react and survive as Wedge found himself in the midst of a furious dogfight.

 

 

 

“Hey!” Han protested as the Stormtrooper behind him prodded him forward with the muzzle of his blaster. He glanced around drawing the man a sour look.

 

“Move!” the soldier coldly ordered and they stepped out of the installation into the sunlight, into a forest clearing.

 

Han looked around, frowning; this wasn’t the way they had entered the installation. “Back door,” he muttered. “We should’ve used the back door.” Then he saw what was waiting for them. There were hundreds of troopers, biker scouts, and several AT-ST Walkers. He leaned into Chewbacca. “Bit off an overkill don’t you think?”

 

Chewbacca grunted in agreement. All of these troopers just for them.

 

“Move!” They were told again. “Hands on your heads”

 

Han complied walking into the centre of the clearing, surrounded on four sides by Imperial soldiers. He glanced up saw the Death Star looming overhead, saw tiny flares and sparks through the blue and he knew the fleet had arrived and was now fighting for its life. He didn’t like their odds, or his for that matter. They were caught and surrounded, the fleet trapped over head and he had no idea where Leia was, but he presumed she had been taken to the battle station since she hadn’t been reunited with them. And so he appealed to the only one he thought could help them now.

 

“Come on, kid. Help us a little here.”

 

 

 

 

“Cut right! Lead the Rebels away from the Death Star,” Sohn brought his fighter into a spiral, barely avoiding the cutting lasers of an opposing ship.  Instinctively he looped back, found himself behind the X-Wing and drew the Rebel into his sights.  His finger tightened on the trigger…

 

_What am I doing?_

 

… he relaxed, drew away from the Rebel, let him go.

 

“Sir?” His wingman questioned.

 

Sohn ignored him, veered left, evading a burning TIE which exploded behind him. He winced, pushing his interceptor down, hearing shrapnel hitting his hull. He quickly checked his sensors, looking for damage to his ship. Everything read normal. He slammed the controls forward. “Leave the larger ships, target only the fighters.”

 

_Away from Leia…._

 

“Commander… I…” 

 

His wingman’s young cry ended abruptly in a brief flare of flames. Sohn glanced around for the assailant as a larger craft passed over head, quad guns spitting deadly fire in his direction.  He twisted away only just dodging the shots.

 

The Falcon!

_Han!_

 

No, Han was on the moon. Leia had said Han and Chewbacca were with her. Who was flying the Falcon?  He watched as several TIEs converged on the freighter, as the Falcon performed evasive manoeuvres, as the guns took out the attacking Imperials.

 

Whoever he was he flew the Falcon as if he knew her well.

 

But Leia had said Han had been with her! He watched as a group of Interceptors converged on the Falcon and he quickly keyed his com. “Leave the freighter. Concentrate on the fighters.”

 

“But, sir it’s…”

 

Sohn winced as another of his men died, brought down by an A-Wing that spun away followed by the remaining members of his squadron. The Falcon looped around, following, gunning down more TIEs; the cries and pleas of the dying reverberating painfully over the com.

 

_“Your wingman died because of your hesitation…”_

 

His father’s scathing reprimand from after his last battle returned. His wingman had perished and he had allowed Wedge Antilles to escape. He should not be so indecisive, he should not be apprehensive. He knew what he should do, after all he was Sohn Vader, and he was the son of the Dark Lord of the Sith, he was apprentice to the Emperor Palpatine, he was…

 

_“….Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.”_

 

Instinctively he brought his gloved hand away from the controls of his fighter to rub at his face, but his hand met only the cool façade he was forced to wear, the hated disguise under which he hid his true identity.

 

“No,” he growled to himself. “Skywalker is dead.”

 

There was a flare from beyond his cockpit and he winced at the brightness of it.

 

_This is light. This is pain._

 

He knew what he should do; he knew what his path should be. His destiny could not be overshadowed by doubts. He reached out and touched the Force seeking strength, seeking its potency to replace his weakness.  He reached out and saw….

 

_Leia!_

 

 

 

Vader stood impassively by the side of the Emperor as the despot cackled and sniggered with delight. Each tiny flare from the fight seemed to delight him, each cry within the Force seemed to strengthen him.

 

“Look at them, my friend,” Palpatine gloated. “See how they scuttle like insects. Here the Alliance will die. Here the Dark Side of the Force will truly triumph. And your son shall be fully mine.” He turned his throne, looked up at his towering servant with a smile. “He has been growing strong, my Lord, but his path remains unclear to him. Despite his pledge to me he still doubts, still has lingering loyalties to the Rebellion.”

 

“Yes, My Master,” For of course it was true. Vader could feel Luke’s conflict, could sense his indecision and his inability to fire upon the Alliance ships, to take the lives of those he once called friend. There was hope; it was not yet too late for his son.

 

“We shall remove those loyalties. We will wipe out the Rebellion and he will have no-one but us. Nothing but darkness. Perhaps then he will understand what we offer him.”  The smile widened, the glint sharpened in the yellowing eyes. “Bring me the Organa girl. I should enjoy her company while the battle rages. Once she has seen the end of her Revolution, I shall terminate her myself.” Palpatine turned his attention back to the conflict beyond the Death Star.

 

There was a brief twist of fury; an abrupt blade of fear knifed the Dark Lord in the chest. But he smothered it, stifled it lest his master sense his feelings for his daughter.  He bowed to his Emperor’s back. “As you wish, my master.”

 

As Vader turned away Palpatine smiled once more, fixing his gaze more intensely on the battle, searching for one presence among the many.  The boy was not difficult to find, even in the midst of such chaos his presence shimmered within the Force; burning brightly with his confusion, his uncertainty and indecision. These feelings were about to be removed, these feelings of doubt would be eradicated and the boy would be left with but one.

 

With a sigh of pleasure, and aware that Vader had not yet left the room, Palpatine opened himself to the Force and touched Sohn’s mind. He allowed the youth to see the girl sitting alone in the darkened cell, allowed Sohn the sight of his father dipping his head to enter that cell and he shared his plans for the Princess Organa’s fate. Allowed Sohn to see her writhe and scream as the Alliance died.

 

Then, as the boy’s rage erupted, he severed their link and brought his throne back around. The dark Lord had hesitated in his steps and was still regarding his master. Palpatine met his gaze and maintained it as he turned to the com set within his throne. “Jerjerrod!”

 

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

 

“If the Lord Commander Vader wishes to board the Death Star you are to deny him access.”

 

“Of course, Sire. We cannot drop the shields the Alli…”

 

“But you _will,_ Commander,” Palpatine hissed, still looking at his elder apprentice. “You will keep him waiting but a moment or two before capitulating to his demands.”

 

“But…Sire… If the shields are down even for a moment there is a chance the Rebels may be able to…”

 

“Have the gun turrets manned, but allow Sohn Vader on board. However,” he added almost as an after thought. “Increase my security. No one apart from the senior Lord Vader may enter my sanctum.”

 

“As you wish, Sire.” The confusion was clear within Jerjerrod’s voice but he would not dare question or disobey.  “Shall I ready the primary weapon?”

 

“Yes. But fire only on my command. “

 

“Of Course, Your Majesty. “

 

Palpatine relaxed, allowed a smile to once more trace his thin lips. “I believe I made a request of you, My Lord?”

 

“Yes, Master.” 

 

The thin smile remained on the Emperor’s lips as he watched the Dark Lord enter the waiting elevator then he returned his attention back to the space battle, back to the torn feelings from the boy. His order given, his servant’s obedience assumed.

 

Everything was proceeding as he had foreseen.

 

 

 

“No!”  The cry was ripped from the very core of him. The future images of Leia’s torment gouging into his mind; Palpatine releasing his dark energy to feast upon the helpless princess as their father stood dispassionately by and did nothing. 

_As he did with me._

 

His anger was blinding. His terror for his sister overwhelming. His hatred and loathing for his Emperor and his father consuming. Nothing mattered now; not the battle, not his dreams or desires. There was only the power within that craved release.

 

_Stay and be safe. Stay and find strength._

 

He pulled his ship around and ploughed through the field of battle, firing indiscriminately at any ship that dared cross his path, that dared put themselves between him and his sister; Imperial and Rebel alike died under his guns and he felt nothing for them. He ignored the protests of his men, his vision firmly on the Death Star ahead, his actions guided solely by the Dark Side of the Force, his focus only on Leia and those who plotted to harm her.

 


	12. A Light Foreshadowed Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wordlessly Sohn gathered the Force around him, he lifted his hand as he approached and waved them out of his way. The troopers were sent crashing across the hanger. Sohn did not glance at them, nor did he break his stride.
> 
>  
> 
> The battle of Endor reaches its climax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All previous disclaimers still apply....

** A Light Foreshadowed **

 

Part Four

 

Leia pulled herself upright on the bench, her eyes searching the gloom of her cell. Something was terribly wrong. She didn’t know how she knew, she didn’t understand. But she knew she had to be ready.

 

The door of her cell sliced open and, despite her resolve, she felt herself shrink back as Darth Vader’s bulk filled the space.

 

“The Emperor requests your company, your Highness,” the Dark Lord rumbled, extending a hand to her.

 

Leia stood and, ignoring the offered hand, she stepped up from her prison. She was surprised to find him alone. Where were the escort guards?  She drew herself to her full height and looked up to the dark mask, fighting to hide her feelings; her fear, her anguish.  Fighting to keep her voice from wavering as she answered. “Then we shouldn’t keep him waiting.” 

 

Leia turned on her heel, turned her back the man who sired her, the man who had tortured her, who had ripped her brother from her at Bespin, who had tried to do the same with Han.  She walked forward ahead of him, making him follow her.

 

And Vader was proud at that moment. Proud of his daughter’s strength, her choler and her courage. She was indeed her mother’s child, as Luke was his.  He stepped in behind her, careful to keep some distance lest his strides over took her, fighting his urgency to move her quicker. Luke…

 

_Sohn…_

 

… was returning to the Death Star and he didn’t have much time to act. The boy’s control had snapped and Luke was hanging precariously on the edge of the abyss, about to plunge headlong into the darkness he had been fighting alone since Bespin.  Every second which passed, every life that he took in his blind rush to reach Palpatine, was one less hold Luke had to the light and Vader needed to be with Palpatine before the last one gave.

 

Silently the princess and the Dark Lord stepped into the waiting elevator.

 

 

 

Wedge grimaced as the TIE fighter that had bobbed in front of his ship blew apart as his laser’s brushed its engines.  He turned away from the explosion looking for another target.

 

“Watch it! Red Leader”

 

Wedge instinctively wrenched his controls to the side, brining his X-Wing into a sharp bank as an Imperial Interceptor darted passed; green lasers spitting arbitrarily.

 

“Wedge?”  Gold Leader’s voice broke over the com.

 

“I see him, General,” Wedge watched the TIE’s path  as it moved away from its own ships, away from the battle field, away towards…  “He’s heading for the Death Star!”

 

“Follow him, Wedge,” Lando commanded. “If they drop the shield for him we may be able to slip through. “

 

Wedge grinned at the idea, hope beginning to develop within. “Copy Gold Leader

 

“It may be our only chance.” This was said quietly, sadly, and Wedge knew that Calrissian was thinking of his friend on the Endor moon.

 

“Red Squad form up on me. Follow that fighter - but don’t fire on him we need him alive to get the shield down.”  Wedge accelerated after the lone Imperial accompanied by the remnants of his squad and the Millennium Falcon.

 

 

 

Clear of the battle field Sohn keyed his com, fighting to keep his voice calm, fighting to control the urgency which pounded within. “Deactivate the security shield.” He ordered shortly.

 

“Negative pilot. You are to return to your squadron immediately.”

 

Frustration further fuelled his anger. “This is Lord Commander Sohn Vader. Deactivate the shield.”

 

“Negative Commander, you have enemy ships at point eight behind you and closing. The shield will not be lowered.”

 

The pressure was becoming too much. He could feel it building, feel it pressing in on all sides, could hearing the buzzing in his head as he fought to keep his thoughts coherent against the rage within. His voice trembled as he spoke. “You will drop the shield and allow me to dock.”

 

“Negative…..”

 

The controller’s voice was lost to Sohn’s cry of fury. In utter desperation, he opened fire, pulling off round after round of laser fire that was absorbed harmlessly by the Death Star’s shielding. He pulled up sharply, feeling his fighter groan and protest at the sudden stresses placed upon it. He circled around, spun the craft and found himself facing an incoming tide of Alliance fighters.  He flew straight through them, sending them scattering, then he circled around and brought his TIE back onto approach.

 

_Leia convulsing in pain, screaming his name….._

 

“Lower the shields!”

 

“We cannot lower the shields while enemy ships are in the vicinity, commander,” Jerjerrod’s voice had replaced that of the controller’s. “The area has to be clear.”

 

“Not a problem,” Sohn told him coolly, smiling grimly at the more positive response, feeling hope cloud among the darkness. “First squad to my position.” And he opened fire on the Rebel ships.

 

 

 

And the Emperor crowed in delight as the mental images he sent to the boy propelled Sohn deeper into darkness, further into despair and wretchedness. When this day was through his hold on Sohn Vader would be complete. The Alliance would crumble and no system would dare question his supremacy, his rule, not when he had the Death Star and the Younger Vader with which to quash them.

 

“Commander!” he rasped into his Com. “Send orders to the fleet to move out to block any escape the Rebels may attempt. Then you may fire at will.”

 

 

 

There was an alarm klaxxoning loudly as Leia strode from the elevator with Vader at her back. Stormtroopers and dark garbed gunners were running to their positions.  It wasn’t until she felt the Dark Lord’s hand on her shoulder that she realised she had stopped.

 

“They’re here?” she whispered, suddenly afraid on many levels. The fleet had arrived and they were all still alive. What had happened to Han?

 

“They are,” Vader informed her, picking up her abrupt grief “And we must hurry.”

 

Leia straightened her shoulders, angrily shrugged off his hand and pushed away her concern for Han and for the Alliance. She had to be prepared to face Palpatine.  She allowed Vader to guide her and as they approached a set of double blast doors at the end of the corridor she steeled herself for what lay ahead.

 

The doors opened and Vader and the princess passed through into a large docking bay where a shuttle sat quietly and where, off to the side, a pilot reclined on packing crates avidly watching a display of the battle taking place over the moon. The man jumped to attention as they approached the ship.

 

With confusion over-riding her fear, Leia stopped and stared at the vessel. “I don’t understand….” She started. But she did. She did understand and this confused her more. He was letting her go. He was saving her life.

 

“The Emperor requested your presence so he could enjoy your reaction as the Alliance was destroyed before your eyes, “Vader explained. “I mean to deprive him of that pleasure. He also means to use you against your brother and I had to remove that weapon from him also.”

 

_For Luke’s sake._

 

She turned, looked up at the black visage, one which once filled her with terror and now filled her with wonder. “Why?”

 

The helmet tilted upwards as though Vader was searching the far corner of the hanger, then he turned to her. “You are my daughter,” he said simply, and with regret.

 

“What about Luke?”

 

Vader briefly hesitated, again there was a tilt of the helmet. “He is very near.”  Indeed Sohn’s emotions were battering his Force senses; so much rage amid a cool determination. And he was afraid that this time Luke was already lost. “Leave him to me.”  He gestured to the pilot to approach. “It is time to leave, your Highness.”

 

“My Lord?” The Pilot stood by them looking in confusion at the Rebel princess and the Dark Lord.

 

“You are to escort her Highness to the sanctuary moon,” Vader rumbled. “She is not to come to harm or you will answer to me.”

 

The pilot nervously flickered to Leia. “My Lord the shield, the battle….”

 

“The shield will be lowered momentarily; you will slip through and take the shuttle away from the battle zone.”

 

“Yes, my Lord,” he bowed.

 

“Give me your side arm.”

 

The bow was never completed as the man jerked back up. “My Lord Vader, I…”

 

“Give me your side arm.”

 

The man complied and handed Vader his pistol by the grip. The Dark Lord took it and passed it to Leia. The pilot stiffened in surprise.

 

“My Lord…” he began stumbling over his words, terribly afraid of the man before him, but also terribly confused by his Lord’s actions. But he stilled his questions when Vader turned the mask upon him. “Leave us and ready the shuttle.”

 

As the man left them Leia took the offered gun, her own feelings wild and unsure…..

 

_..Han… what has happened to Han?_

 

“Now go, your Highness.” Vader advised as the shuttle’s engines came to life.

 

“Thank you…” she stalled unable to find the word, unable to call him father.

 

“I understand,” he told her.  “And if I can, I will return your brother to you.”

 

Leia nodded briefly, then turned and strode up the ramp of the waiting shuttle which immediately lifted behind her.   Vader hurried from the hanger, knowing he had to reach the Emperor before Luke.

 

Leia settled in beside the pilot, keeping the blaster in her grip as the shuttle lifted and glided from the bay.  “When we’re clear of the fighting, bring us around the moon to the shield generator.”

 

“The Lord Vader never said anything about obeying your orders, Rebel.”

 

Leia considered the pistol and smiled. “I’m quite a good pilot myself,” she said quietly, her meaning very clear. “You’ll take us around to the shield generator.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

 

 

“Evasive manoeuvres! He’s firing on us!”  Wedge called frantically. Bringing his fighter out of a tight turn. He banked right as his Artoo unit screeched from behind the cockpit.  His eyes swept the scanners. “And he’s got reinforcements.”

 

“Copy that, Wedge,” Lando replied, frustration biting his words.   “Red Squad head back to fleet. They won’t drop the shield with a crowd of us here.”

 

“Red leader! One on your tail!”

 

“I see him, Red Five!”

 

Wedge spun the X-Wing, zigzagged a broken path through the smaller dog-fight they had created away from the main fighting.  The Interceptor remained on his tail, seemed to be able to read his every move. “I could use some help here! He’s good!”   He frowned at his own words, watched his opponent in his rear scanners.

 

_“He flies like, Luke.”_

 

“Shit,” he breathed softly as his conversation with Solo and the Princess returned to him.  “Don’t do this, Luke.”

 

“On my way, Wedge!” Lando responded, bringing the Falcon around, quad guns blazing.

 

 

 

Sohn followed the X-Wing watching as the ship bobbed and weaved in and out of the crosshairs of his targeting device, as it spun and looped around trying to shake him. He felt the danger before his scanners warned him of the ship coming up behind him, and he pushed the controls forward putting his interceptor into a dive as streaks of red laser fire shot past. He brought the ship around impulsively returning fire on his attacker.

 

“No!” the denial was a howl of desolate realisation as his shots lightly brushed the hull of the Millennium Falcon,  piercing its shielding and sending shards spinning off. “Han!”

 

 

 

“Gold Leader!” Wedge called, in alarm.

 

“Shielding’s gone, Wedge,” Lando told him, tightly. “Engine’s losing power. He’s hit the….ah…controls are shorting out…”

 

“I’m coming in to help…..”

 

“Negative, Wedge… We’re dead in space. Get back to the fleet. Han’ll get that shield down. You’re in Command now, Red leader.”

 

 

 

Panicked Sohn drew back, flew his TIE back towards the floundering freighter as the last Rebel X-Wing turned to flee the scene and it was then he saw the markings on the snub-fighter. It had been Wedge. He’d almost shot Wedge down, but instead it had been Han…

 

… _Leia said Han was with her. What did she mean? That he was on the moon? He had to be on the moon. But the Falcon… he never let anyone else fly the Falcon…_

 

He passed over the ship seeing movement in the cockpit, unable to make out precise figures. And relief flooded him, they were still alive. He opened his com to warn his men off but before he could speak the quad guns from the Falcon opened fire on him.

 

There were streaks of green as one of his own men flew to his defence. “Don’t” he cried.

 

The TIE’s shots sheered off the Falcon’s cockpit, spilling bodies into space. It touched the damaged hull and the Millennium Falcon disintegrated in a burst of fire and debris.

 

“No!”

 

 

 

Han stood with the squad and beside him Threepio, uncommonly subdued and quiet, placed a golden hand on the dome of Artoo Detoo. Chewbacca growled under his breath at the surrounding Imperial troops.  The Corellian glanced up once more at the blue sky, at the pin point flares of light as once particularly bright explosion burst near the Death Star.

 

“On your knees, Rebels.”

 

And Han knew their time was short. Knew he had to act. Somehow.

 

 

 

It was too much, too much.  There was too much happening. Too much pain to contain within. Moaning he pressed the heel of his hands against the forehead of the mask, wanting to rip it off wanting beat his fists against the controls of his fighter, wanting to open his eyes and see the Falcon whole, wanting to know that Han was still alive and that he had not been responsible for what had happened.

He had to control these feelings, had to reel in the emotions that were overwhelming him, that threatened to engulf him. He had to gather them in and nurture them just for a short while, just until he could command them and use them to his own advantage.

 

“Lord Commander,” Jerjerrod’s voice cut through the static in his head. “The shield will be deactivated on your next approach. You are to dock within your assigned hanger and be escorted to…”

 

_Vader’s bulk stepping down into a cell, his hands clasping the princess drawing her to her feet. Vader standing behind Palpatine as the old man laughed at her anguish and despair. Vader doing nothing as the Emperor gently took her face in his hands, spoke soothingly too her before the familiar flickers of blue spread from his finger tips to her skin. Vader watching as she fell screaming to the floor crying out her brother’s name._

_Vader. Their father._

 

He spun his fighter around and headed back to the Death Star.

 

 

 

Leia gripped the blaster tightly as the shuttle slipped out of the docking bay, her stomach twisting with tension, her head pounding with….

 

_….pain and rage…_

She gave an involuntary gasp. Tried to reach out with her raw Force abilities and found a still darkness, a quiet shadow which scared her.

 

_Stay and be safe. Stay and find strength._

 

And she prayed that Vader was correct about the shield being lowered, prayed that the action she was about to take would help end this conflict; would help her brother to somehow find the peace he so badly needed.

 

The ship slowed for a moment, paused in its journey as the pilot brought it near to the shielding and Leia glanced out of the cockpit.  It was quiet this side of the space station. Here there were no other ships, no lights of battle, just the quiet peace of cold space and the Endor moon shining below.  It was a calm and tranquil view one which helped ease her anxiety. She knew what she had to do.

 

_For Han. For Luke. For us all._

 

She reached forward changing the com frequency, tapping in Alliance code to break into the secure channels looking for the Rebel battle chatter and the cockpit was suddenly filled with desperate shouts and frantic orders.

 

The Shuttle moved forward, building speed. “Take us down.” Leia said quietly.

 

 

 

Sohn wrenched off the breathing apparatus and, leaving the Interceptor’s engines idling, he popped the hatch and jumped unaided to the hanger floor. A squad of troopers were approaching him, marching in close formation. He strode toward them barely containing the emotions which surged within, the power and passion which begged release.

 

“Lord Commander Vader,” the lead trooper acknowledged him. “You are under arrest for…”

 

Wordlessly Sohn gathered the Force around him, he lifted his hand as he approached and waved them out of his way. The troopers were sent crashing across the hanger. Sohn did not glance at them, nor did he break his stride.

 

 

 

Darth Vader stepped out of the elevator and swept passed the guards stationed there without a look or a thought. He was focusing entirely on this moment, setting his resolve to face his Emperor. But it was difficult to maintain his composure, difficult to concentrate his attention forward when his senses were being battered by his son’s squalling emotions. The Force was a storm around them and he and Palptine were the eye. He dipped to his knees as Palpatine rose from the throne, yellow eyes narrowed with anger.

 

“What is this?”

 

“The Princess Leia is no longer on board the Death Star,” Vader rumbled, helmet lowered in his bow.

 

_…Raging frustration…. unrelenting pain….blind aggression… Blue of a lightsabre blade flashing against the red of the Royal Guards who stood between him and the elevator._

 

Sohn was so very close.

 

Palpatine smirked at the bludgeoning feelings from the boy, at the images caught by them both. Then he turned back to his servant.  “And who is responsible for this treachery?”

 

“I am, my Master.”

 

The thin lips pursed in anger, there was a pause of surprise which pleased the dark Lord. The Palpatine stepped towards him. “I focused on the son, when it should have been the father I kept watch upon.” 

 

Vader lowered his postion as the Emperor lightly caressed his feelings, then plunged deeper into his mind, shredding through his beliefs, dreams and wishes.  He wilted under the attack, allowed Palpatine access to his most private thoughts lest the pain of fighting weaken him to the struggle ahead. He knew he would require every ounce of his strength and conviction to face his furious son.

 

“And why would the Dark Lord of the Sith risk all for that girl…….. Ah,” and he smiled with realisation and spoke gleefully, enjoying the pain he sensed from Vader. “… to save the son.” He paused, glanced up toward the still silent elevator and the guards standing there. “Can’t you feel him, my Lord? His wrath, his passion, his strength and power within the Darkness. He welcomes these feelings now, he revels in the Dark Side side as he fights his way to us, as he fights to save…”

 

_The girl… something about the girl…_

 

“Sister?”  Palpatine spat in surprise and disgust. “A second child? The Organa brat?”  As Vader remained silent, Palpatine’s surprise melted to bemusment and then to rile as he suddenly understood the Dark Lord’s actions. He grimaced at the man who still bowed to him. “You are not here to pay homage to me, my Lord,” he drawled with repugnance. “Your loyalties lie elsewhere - Skywalker.”

 

 

 

Smiling, with satisfaction Sohn took the head of the remaining guard with a final vicious stroke of his sword. As the body crumpled to the floor among the others the Younger Dark Lord stepped forward into the elevator. The Force was thrilling through him, filling him with a heady power and he glanced upward as the lift began to ascend to the Emperor’s chamber. No-one would stand between him and his sister and live.

 

 

 

Palpatine’s head jerked up as though he had heard something and he looked toward the elevator. He grinned in satisfaction and announced. “You have failed. Your son is mine!”

 

Vader rose and turned as Palpatine moved back toward his throne. The elevator doors parted and the guards turned to stop its occupant from entering the chamber. There was the spit and hum of a lightsabre and the men were felled by three easy slices of the blue blade. Sohn callously stepped over their bodies onto the bridge which crossed the shaft and Vader understood that Palpatine was right; this small, dark figure which stalked towards them was not Luke Skywalker. This man was lost in rage and anguish, this man nurtured hatred and revenge, this man’s awful power trembled under a tenuous control and he was so eager now to unleash it.

 

This man reminded Vader of his younger self.

 

“Where is she?” Sohn screamed. He gripped his sabre tightly, the blue glow reflecting on his mask.

 

_Stay and be safe._

 

“Luke…”  Vader began stepping toward him, his hand instinctively touching the hilt of his own sabre.

 

“Don’t call me that!” Fury scored the word as it tore through Sohn’s scarred vocal cords; a lasting gift from his father.  “Where’s Leia?”

 

“Dead,” Palpatine sneered from behind Vader’s back as Sohn reached the steps and began to climb.

 

_Leia wilting under the attack. Reaching to Vader in her desperation._

_“Father!”_

_And her plea went unanswered._

 

With a bestial howl Sohn attacked; sword swinging high toward his father’s head. Vader’s sword flew into his hands and he barely blocked the blow, deflecting his son’s move. The younger man pushed forward blade flashing relentlessly as he pressed his father back.  Vader met each lunge, each frenzied stroke with a defensive parry.  He had never felt such strength from the boy before, such a focused purpose. Luke was quick, his moves thoughtless; guided solely by the Dark Side of the Force and Vader was afraid he would lose this fight and into doing so he would lose everything.

 

Sohn brought his saber in low, cutting in toward Vader’s side. His father blocked the blow but was unbalanced by the move and Sohn brought his foot up, viciously kicking his father and sending the elder Vader crashing down the stairway.  He immediately jumped after him, landing at Vader’s sprawled legs. He raised the sabre above his head ready to serve the killing blow, but Vader brought his hand up and sent Luke reeling back with a push as he gathered himself to his feet.

 

With lithe ability Sohn righted himself and faced his father, saber held in a traditional attack position. Vader raised his own sword in defence and they circled each other; both looking for a weakness in the other, both driven by similar desires and wants; but both too absorbed in events to recognise it; Sohn utterly oblivious to the manipulations of the Dark Side of the Force.

 

Above them Palpatine cackled with glee as their sabres locked together once more.

 

 

 

“Break right! Break right!” Wedge called desperately to his wingman.  “I’m coming in…”

 

An immense burst of light erupted from the Death Star and touched one of the Rebel crusiers. It exploded into dust taking with it the fighters which had surged around it.

 

There was a moment of stunned silence over the com and then all began shouting as one.

 

“The Death Star’s operational!”

 

“Retreat. Retreat.”

 

“We saw it,” Ackbar’s broke over all others. “All craft prepare to retreat.”

 

“No, Admiral!”  A female voice broke in.  “Maintain the attack. The shield will be brought down - I only need a few moments.”

 

“Princess?” Wedge questioned feeling a little optimism swell from the depths of the hopelessness he had been feeling.

 

Another ship disintegrated, taken out by the Death Star.

 

“I’m not sure we have a few moments, Your Highness,” Ackbar responded tightly. “Not against the Death Star, and the Imperial fleet is closing in quickly to block an escape. We have to leave now to preserve the Rebellion.”

 

“We won’t get another opportunity like this Admiral,” Leia argued, fighting to keep the choler and anxiety from her voice. If they left, if they fled now the Emperor would still live, the Death Star would be completed to wreak havoc throughout the Galaxy.  “It has to end here!”

 

Wedge understood her reasoning, knew what she was saying made sense, but how could they buy the time they needed. He brought his fighter around, accelerated passed the medical frigate firing on the TIE that he had centred in his crosshairs. It blew as Wedge spun away and he saw the stars of clear space before him slowly being closed off by the Imperial Star Destroyers.

 

That was it!

 

“Admiral, if we moved the fleet towards those destroyers, took them on at close range that would…”

 

“We won’t last long against those Star Destroyers,” Ackbar responded.

 

“No, but they might think twice about using the Death Star cannon if they value their own ships! And it might buy the Princess some time!” He was shouting now desperately trying to convince his superior.

 

There was a pause filled by static then, “I’ll give order,” Ackbar conceded quietly.

 

 

 

Leia sighed in relief smiling slightly as she watched as the Endor moon grew to fill the view port of the shuttle.  “Thank you, Admiral.”

 

Beside her the Imperial pilot chuckled. “It’s too late, Rebel” he sneered. “The Emperor has your fleet cornered.”

 

Leia glanced briefly in his direction as the shuttle moved into the upper layers on the moon’s atmosphere a tight retort balanced on her lips…

 

… _blue against red, black on black… fury and fright scurrying… squawking laughter and foul glee… a darkness and malevolence so strong it…_

 

 …she blanched in sudden pain, gasped at the rawness of the emotions which battered against her like a rough tide and she slumped low in the chair trying to unravel herself from the Force.  The pilot beside her rose, reached across to snatch to gun from her hand but found himself looking at its barrel once more.

 

“Just fly the shuttle, and remember Vader said I wasn‘t to come to harm,” Leia told him, shakily as she forcefully fought her way out of the images and the feelings which had almost overwhelmed her. Time was short for the Fleet, and she was possibly too late for Han and his team below her in the Forest. And this thought struck her deeply, caused tight grief to rise and choke at the back of her throat. She swallowed it back; she still had Luke, still had her brother and she sorely wished she could reach out to him, could help him with his struggle against the darkness which was so eagerly devouring him, could aid Vader…

_…their father…_

 

…in his task of returning her brother to her. She briefly closed her eyes and allowed one thought only to break the quiet of her mind.

 

_I’m here, Luke._

 

Then she opened her eyes, cleared her brother from her thoughts and glanced over the shuttles scanners. “Head for the shield generator,” she ordered her prisoner, “and charge up the guns.”

 

 

 

Sohn feinted a thrust at Vader, drew back, jumped and somersaulted over the Dark Lord’s head. He landed with feline precision, sabre slicing through the air at his father’s back. Vader turned and met the blow. 

 

“Luke!” He attempted as his automated breathing quickened with each movement he made the equipment struggling to keep up with the demands for oxygen from his body.

 

Snarling, Sohn viciously pushed forward forcing Vader onto the bridge across the chasm. He was quick, nimble, his movements almost ephemeral and his father was hard pressed to keep his own sword moving to block each blow, each swinging strike which rained in toward him.  The boy was driven by pain, by hatred and anger, the emotions propelling him deeper and deeper into the abyss of darkness which closed around him, offered him release and fuelled his frenzy.

 

The Dark Lord staggered backward and his foot caught on the prone body of a fallen guard and he stumbled, dropped to his knees. Sohn grabbed the advantage, sabre catching Vader’s own and ripping it from his grasp.  It dropped into the void below as Vader instinctively threw up his arm against a killing stroke. Sohn’s sabre severed the arm at the wrist exposing the mechanisms of the prosthetic limb. His cry was distorted, twisted, as it tore from the mask’s voice processor.  He fell back among the dead guards as the blue sabre came up and around, cutting through his chest plate.

 

His lungs immediately felt compressed, crushed, and he had to fight to draw in a sustaining breath. He heaved and gasped as the tip of the lightsabre lingered at his neck. And he knew he was beaten.

 

“Where is she?” Sohn whispered malevolently.

 

The Force moved in tides around Vader, thick and fluid and he had difficulty grasping onto it, had difficulty gaining the strength he needed to speak.  He was light-headed through depleted oxygen levels, weakened, dying.  “S….safe,” he wheezed. “Sh… she… she is safe.”

 

_…. Safe….. Safe… Safe…_

 

Sohn faltered for a moment at the unexpected answer. How could that be? How could Leia be safe when Palpatine had said she was dead? His blood was rushing with his exertion, hammering through his brain with every quick beat of his heart. It was a whirlwind, a torrent in his mind and the noise of the storm was still building, goaded by his twisted emotions.

 

“You’re lying!” he spat, lightsabre poised for the final thrust. 

 

“Sh… shu…ttle…” the Dark Lord managed. He was struggling against his rapidly declining body, struggling against death for the sake of his son.  “Se….search….f….feelings, Luke.”

 

“No!  I…”

 

… _I’m here, Luke…_

 

“Leia?!“ He called in bewilderment.  He took a stumbling step back from Vader, trying to hold onto his anger, wanting to keep the heat of it close to him. But the cool anguish of understanding, and guilt, began to seep through the flames to confuse him and the exhilarating power he had felt - he had enjoyed - began to trickle away. “Leia?”

 

Palpatine’s smile of contentment faded as he watched the younger man move back from his fallen father, as the youth’s delicious rage began to fade to dawning horror. He slowly descended the steps as Sohn cried out the girl’s name for a second time and he could feel the boy searching the Force for his sister’s presence. Palpatine blocked him, threw a black wall around him, preventing him from exploring further.  His smile returned as Sohn turned angrily toward him and he regarded the boy with hooded eyes.

 

“Your father is trying to manipulate you, child, to salvage himself. The girl is dead…”

 

“Then why block me?” Sohn demanded, failing to address his Emperor appropriately in his desperation to know his sister’s fate.

 

“To save you from yourself,” Palpatine told him kindly, ignoring Sohn’s insolence, focusing only on the boy’s anger, and loathing for his sire “You have become powerful. The Dark Side of the Force beats in your heart filling you with a potency which surpasses even your father’s. This is the destiny you were born for,” he hissed with eager conviction. “Now fulfil it. Come bow to me and you may be my Darth Vader!”

 

_Darth Vader?_

_….A burst of light in a darkened cave, a wisp of smoke clearing to reveal the face beneath the Vader mask…_

_His own face._

_His own face beneath the Vader façade._

_Darth Vader._

 

Sohn touched his own mask with a trembling hand.

 

_Vader._

 

He glanced back at his father who lay gasping and dying behind him.

 

_Vader._

 

_“You are my son.”_

 

His father. He was like his father. He was becoming his father.

 

He looked to the lightsabre he was still clutching tightly.

 

_“I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father.”_

His lightsabre. His father’s lightsabre. Skywalker’s lightsabre. That was why he had kept it and refused to make his own. It was his past, it was who he was.

 

Skywalker.

 

He extinguished the sword, hooked it onto his belt, and then he reached up and lifted off his mask and helmet. He regarded them briefly, feeling cool air brush against his face, lifting heat from his sweat damp hair, and he smiled, for he would need them no longer.

 

“Never again, “he calmly informed Palpatine, and he tossed the mask and helmet to the floor where they settled at the Emperor’s feet.  “I’ll not kneel to you.  I am my own master, now.”

 

 

 

Helplessly Han closed his eyes as the executions started at the far end of the Rebel line up. They were all on their knees, hands still behind bowed heads. The abrupt retorts of a hand gun echoed around clearing, breaking the silence as the assembled Imperials watched their Commander terminate the Rebels one by one.

 

“Leia,” he whispered with regret as the quiet was broken by another shot and the pulsing of a passing shuttle’s engines.

 

 

 

“There,” Leia pointed to the forest clearing where the Imperial’s were assembled, to her horror she watched a single black clad officer point to gun to back of an Alliance trooper’s head and pull the trigger. As the shuttle took her over the top of them, she caught sight of Han waiting at the very end of the killing line.  The ship passed over the huge shield generating dish.   “Circle around, take us back over head. Quickly!” 

 

Leia fingers rapidly worked the controls before her and she brought the targeting screen online.  She shot a quick look at the pilot reassuring herself he wasn’t about to try and obstruct her actions. “Take us lower.”

 

And she opened fire on the dish, on the landing platform, on the building housing the generator.  The huge dish broke up, collapsed in and flames arose in a great plume of fire. The shuttle moved on, guns still blazing cutting through the Imperials gathered in the clearing.

 

 

 

Han fell forward at the first shots, as the shield generator exploded, as All Terrain transports toppled, around them. Glancing up he watched storm troopers flee for cover. He grinned as the shuttle came around again; whoever it was flying that ship was clearly on the side of the Alliance. It was decimating the Imperial ranks.

 

He reached forward and grabbed a fallen blaster, glanced at Chewie and shouted above the tumult of shouts and screams and laser fire. “Come on, Fur Face!”  And he opened fire on the troopers around him as his remaining squad members responded like wise.

 

 

 

“The shield is down!” Ackbar’s voice broke in over com.

 

Wedge grinned in relief; the Princess had been true to her word. “We’re on it, Admiral. Red Group, Gold Group,” he called to the remnants of his own squad, and Calrissian’s. “All fighters form up on me. We’re goin’ in.”

 

 

 

With sullen anger Palpatine lifted his eyes from the discarded mask and helmet to consider the younger man. “Arrogant fool!”

 

 Luke coolly returned the stare, feeling relaxed, feeling ready.  “No, Sire. You are the fool. You watched me so closely, but you failed to see anything past your own ambitions.”

 

“Luke…. No….”

 

Luke ignored his father’s pleas from behind him and waited for Palpatine’s next move. He could feel the Force within as it surged through him, wave after wave of bludgeoning power hammering at his senses. It felt good and, unlike a few moments before, he was in control of it. He was commanding it and for once his destiny truly was in his own hands.

 

And Palpatine laughed gleefully at this, hands clasped before him, white and clawed against the dark of his robes.  His laughter was a cackle, a squawk from a carrion bird as it chased a child from the light and bid it hide in the shadows.  “You think to challenge me? “ He questioned, with a hint of incredulity to his voice.  He stepped forward and was rewarded as Luke moved back.  The boy was still afraid of him - as he should be.   “You think to usurp me, child?  You do not yet have the strength.”

 

“You fear me,” Luke stated as darkness swirled about him. “You always have. Even as you tortured me I could feel it. Even when I bent my knees to you in supplication it was there.” He took a bold step towards the Emperor as he spoke. “And it is there now. I can feel it.”

 

The Emperor stood his ground; his face grave with his growing irritation. The boy was growing too brash, too presumptuous, to sure of himself and of his abilities, and Palpatine was loathe to destroy such a gifted apprentice, such a dark jewel, but Sohn had overstepped a boundary and Palpatine was unsure if it was one which could be successfully reinstated. There had been too much interference from the father, too much from influence from the sister and…

 

_The sister._

 

There was a way to salvage this after all.  “You will bow to me, young one,” he spat in fury and glee. “You will call me master,” and his voice softened to a whisper. “Or your sister will.”

 

Luke felt his control loosen, felt his tenuous grip slide as the Force raged with his anger at the threat, at the thought of Leia bowing to this rancid creature. “No!”

 

Vader felt the movement within the Force. Luke was still in darkness, still stumbling in the shadows with the light just beyond his grasp.  “Luke…..” he gasped, reaching for his son who stood so close, but seem so far away.

 

And Palpatine smiled at the reaction savouring the heat and the hatred. “It is either her fate, or it is yours,” he warned. “Now yield to me.”

 

Luke took another determined step toward the Emperor. Back straight, head held high, eyes burning with the power of his decision and his disgust. “No.”

 

Palpatine nodded with regret at the finality of Luke‘s decision. “So be it, Skywalker,” and he lifted his hands in an all too familiar gesture.  “I trust your sister will be wiser.”  He summoned his power, savoured it building, felt it crackling around his fingers and then released it toward the waiting boy.

 

Luke threw both his hand out blocking the Force lightening. It bounced and sparked wildly as he caught it, as he cupped his hands shaping the dark-light into a ball. He drew it to himself feeling the Force humming through him, filling him with exhilaration, with an unsurpassed strength.   He looked at Palpatine, saw the horror and fear which crossed the Emperor’s face and he laughed with delight as the old man stumbled away.

 

He opened his hands and sent the ball crashing back in the direction it had come; it caught Palpatine in the midsection and sent him flying to land awkwardly on the stairs to the throne. Luke slowly walked forward, calling upon the Force, feeling the flicker and flash of his own energy as it spread outward, as it licked over the fallen Emperor’s robes and tore wild cries of defeat from the writhing man. 

 

Unseen and forgotten Vader painfully crawled over the floor; fear for his son strengthening him, giving him the impetus he needed to move his failing body.   He forced himself to his feet and threw himself on Luke, tackling him, bringing him down. They tumbled to the floor together.

 

Enraged Luke rolled away, kicked at his father’s grasping hand.  “I could have had him!” He screamed at Vader.

 

“And….” Vader gasped and heaved for a breath. “He… wo… would….have had….you, son.”

 

The words sliced through the rage, cooling his anger, making him pause. He was still in the thrall of the Dark Side, still its vassal and doing its bidding. If he killed Palpatine in this manner, if he killed him in anger and revenge…

 

_… and pleasure…_

 

…then he was no better. Shrugging off Sohn Vader and reclaiming the Skywalker name did not cleanse him of iniquity, did not resurrect the man he once was when all of this began.  He was allowing his feelings to claim him, allowing the Dark Side to reside insidiously within; he was allowing these emotions to control him rather than the other way around.   That they gave him strength was undeniable, but it was a strength which could be utilised in more productive ways.

 

Luke looked to his father. His father who had risked all to save the son who had ultimately killed him.  Who had used his fear for that son to give him the strength to save him. Fear, because he loved him.

 

_But had he not acted to save Leia?  Had he not used love too as the foundations of his actions?_

 

He wilted, confused, caught between the light and the dark, struggling to know the right from the wrong among so many shades of grey. 

 

“Father?” he questioned. “What do I do now?” And he sounded very much like the lost child who had reached out in anguish and pain so many months before. Then his father had stepped back, had turned away and left him alone in the cold and the darkness.  But now the black gloved hand reached for his and held tightly.

 

“You… live…”

 

There was a snort of laughter from the side, to where Palpatine had drawn himself back to his feet. “But you will not!” 

 

Blue-white streaks erupted from spread fingers tips and ripped through the weakened Dark Lord and his son. The grip between them broke as Luke, caught in the chest by the blast, was thrown violently backwards. He cried out in agony, in horror, as he rolled over the floor trying to free himself from the scorching darkness. He clawed at the lightening as it travelled his body, pushing it away with all the power he could muster and, grimacing from the pain, he looked up as the lightening continued to strobe the throne room. It moved away from him to solely target his father.

 

 Palpatine, with renewed vigour, stalked forward pouring all of his hatred and vengeance into Vader’s final moments.  Once the father was dead, once his influence was destroyed the boy would surely see he only ever had one choice, one place, one destiny and that alone he would falter. Sohn need guidance, needed nurturing; a thing so capable of darkness could not be allowed to wither so soon.

 

“Father!”  Luke called, horrified. He clambered unsteadily to his feet, pulling the lightsabre from his belt and activating it. The blue blade grew tall, strong, and it purred through air as he wielded it, using just one stroke to fell the laughing despot.

 

 Palpatine choked in surprise at the sudden agony that tore his body. He gasped, feeling his powers drain, realising he should never have made the mistake of turning his back on the boy.  As he fell to the floor Sohn Vader stepped into his line of vision and Palpatine saw, at last, what had been so cleverly concealed from him; the boy was silhouetted by a brilliant light; by a pure and natural radiance that no darkness could ever fully destroy.

 

_This is light. This is life._

 

 This child was the balance he had strived to destroy, this child was the core of the Force and from him the Jedi Order would grow strong once more.

 

He could foresee it.

 

Luke shut off the lightsabre as Palpatine’s body silently crumbled and he dropped to his knees by his father’s side, taking the elder man’s hand once more.

 

“Father?”

 

There was no reply and, anxious for contact with his father, Luke’s fingers hooked over the helmet and lifted it from Vader’s head. Frantically, but still with consummate care, he unfastened the mask’s face plate and lifted it away.  Anakin Skywalker’s face was still, peaceful, his eyes closed. Luke leaned closer listening for a shallow breath.

 

“Father,” he repeated, regret and grief heavy in the word. He lowered his head as unfamiliar tears marked his cheeks.  He had killed his own father, he had…

 

“Saved… me…” 

 

The words were barely a whisper but they caught Luke’s heart and he looked up as his father weakly smiled at him. “I’m sorry…” he wept.

 

“No… Luke. You… saved…me,” Anakin reassured him.  It should be he who was sorry.  It should be he who should plead forgiveness from his son. His light son, his beautiful child who shimmered with the power of the Force. His son who had saved him from plunging into Darkness for eternity and who had nothing to be sorry for. It had been his actions alone which had lead them here, it had been his choices, made before Luke was born, which had lead to this moment.   “You… live.  Leave me.”

 

“No,” Luke glanced toward the viewing ports and the fight beyond.  “The battle is turning, I can feel it.  It is best this way.”

 

He was suffocating, each breath he managed was less than the first and his body screamed its agony at him, pleaded with him to let go and die. But still he lingered and fought for the stubborn child by his side who believed that death was also his destiny.  “Not… best. Easier.”

 

“The Dark Side is still so near,” Luke told him, thickly. He had to die. He deserved to die. He wanted to die for what he had done this day; the deaths he had caused while enraged.  He did not trust himself when he could still feel the darkness within.

 

“Leia…” Vader wheezed, gripping Luke by the arm as pain rippled through him. “.. needs you. Who will.. be…there for her…when…Darkness… calls….?  You have…beaten it… Be the.. Jedi.. You wanted to be.”

 

_“I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi like my father.”_

 

He caught his father’s gaze, saw forgiveness in his father’s eyes, saw the pain and regret he felt mirrored there.  They both had so much to atone for.

 

“Go… home, Luke.” The last word, his name, was merely the last breath leaving the body as Darth Vader, Anakin Skywalker, succumbed to his wounds.

 

“Father!” Luke called desperately, echoing words he had used before to plead with the man who had delivered him into darkness. “Please… don’t leave me.”

 

 There was no answer. Luke bowed his head and bitterly wept.

 

 

 

Wedge winced as the tower guns opened fire on them. They sped across the surface of the Death Star pursued by several TIE fighters. They crossed the equator, skimmed the shell of the battle station and traversed unfinished superstructure.

 

“There it is!” Wedge announced. “All fighters follow me!”  And he looped around brought his fighter down and he plunged into the reactor shaft.  Immediately his instruments screamed multiple warnings about obstructions ahead. He gritted his teeth and flew as he never had before; evading jutting superstructure, unfinished gantries and walk-ways; his fighter swooping through the bowels of the Death Star followed by Red and Gold squads.

 

“Lock onto the strongest power source,” he advised his men. “It should be the reactor.”

 

“Copy, Red Leader. Locking on.”

 

Green streaks of blaster fire strafed the wall beside his fighter sending up sparks and reminding him of their pursuers. “Spilt up,” he ordered, sharply. “See if we can’t lose some of these Imps.”

 

“Copy that, Red Leader,” Gold Two acknowledge as he and three others peeled away down a separate shaft. “We’re heading back to the surface.”

 

Wedge followed the signal on his targeting device, weaving around piles of debris and ducking under a half built walls. Then the way was clear and the Rebel fighters roared into the reactor chamber. “There she is! I’ll go for the regulator on the north tower. Red Two you take out the main reactor.”

 

“With pleasure, Boss!”

 

Wedge released his torpedoes a split second before his wingman. They turned in a wide arc behind the reactor sphere as the missiles hit. The huge structure collapsed and blew, spewing out a raging fire which streamed after the fighters through the battle station’s super structure.

 

 

 

 

The Death Star rocked, the shock waves rippling outward to warp and bend metal decking plates, to shatter walls, and to  loosen docked TIE fighters from their anchors on hanger ceilings; they crashed to the docking bay floors, fuel cells bursting and exploding.  Men ran, fell and died.

 

Luke stumbled into the cockpit of the Emperor’s personal shuttle and threw himself into the pilot’s chair, hands already working the controls, bringing the engines on line and maximising the shielding. As it moved forward, lifting from the deck, a piece of gantry fell from the ceiling and an explosion blew outward from the bay to lick at the stern of the shuttle as it passed from beyond its grasp.

 

Luke smiled grimly as the shuttle was buffeted and then straightened. He steered away from the Death Star.

 

 

 

 

It was getting hot, Wedge was sure of it. The flames chasing them seemed to be creeping faster, seemed ready to reach out and hold them and crush them within its heat.  Alarms were ringing in his ears and he was unaware he was shouting aloud.

 

Then clear space was before him, the fleet having moved off to a safe distance. And he cried with joy, with amazement, as the Death Star burst in an instance of brilliant aurora behind him.

 

 

 

 

The battle was ending. The Rebel soldiers, having regrouped behind the shell of a fallen Walker, had picked off the remaining troopers and were emerging to mop up any further resistance. Han glanced up as a whoop of joy rose from his men and he smiled as the Death Star exploded far above and burned like a second sun.

 

_Like Tatooine._

 

_Luke._

_Kid._

 

He lowered his head in pain, surprised by the grief which threatened to overwhelm him.

 

_Leia!_

_Was Leia on that thing?_

 

A heavy, hairy hand rested on his shoulder and Chewbacca softly grunted as See Threepio and Artoo Detoo re-emerged from behind the Walker wreckage.

 

“I know, Chewie,” he said softly as the shuttle containing their benefactor hovered overhead and lowered to the ground.  The Corellian straightened his shoulders.  “Let’s go see who we thank, huh?”

 

The ramp lowered as he walked forward and he spotted the dark pants of an Imperial uniform at the top and a very disgruntled looking man was escorted out at gun point by….

 

“Leia!”

 

He ran forward, pushed the pilot out of his way, and scooped the princess from her feet. He spun her around, buried his face in her hair and breathed in the very essence of her.  “Leia!” he repeated, hold her close.  Then he seemed to feel her amusement and put her down, drawing away ever so slightly and saw her smile. “I thought I had lost you.”

 

She reached up, rested a palm on his face, and they kissed lightly. “Never,” she told him.

 

“What happened?” He questioned, glancing back up at the burning remains of the battle station. “Were you up there?”

 

“Yes,” she told him, a small frown darkening her features, her eyes taking on hues of sorrow. “Vader let me go. He…” and the words caught in her throat as she glanced at the sky.

 

Han gathered her back into his arms, understanding the source of her anguish. “I’m sure Luke wasn’t on that thing when it blew.” He didn’t know why he said it, he didn’t even believe it, but he knew he had to say something to ease Leia’s pain.

 

To his surprise she smiled. “He wasn’t. I can feel it.”

 

Uneasy with this answer, he shifted his feet on the grass. “Is he…?”

 

“He’s Luke.” She simply answered staring at the sky, sensing her brother’s searching feelings.

 

Han nodded silently, stilling his questions and drew Leia back into his arms. Her words were suffice for him. Later there would be greater explanations, later there would be more truths revealed; but for now there was Leia and he was content.

 

 

 

Luke smiled as he felt Leia’s presence on the moon below. He knew she was safe, felt her happiness as she was reunited with…

 

_Han!_

He closed his eyes with a flood relief. Han was all right. Han hadn’t been on the Falcon and he didn’t have to live with the guilt of killing his friend. He reached out tentatively and touched his sister’s feelings, savouring her light, her goodness and wishing he could hold her, wishing he could wrap his arms around her, grasp her tightly and tell her how he felt now.

 

_I know, Luke…_

 

Reluctantly, he withdrew from her, taking comfort in her soothing thought. She knew what he had to do now. He turned the shuttle away from the moon, away from the dying field of battle. He still had much to consider, still had ghosts of pain to lay to rest and he needed time to contemplate the future and his part in it.

 

_“Go home, Luke.”_ His father had said. But where was home?  Not with Alliance, not yet anyway. Not on Coruscant with the remnants of the Empire where his presence, as Vader’s son, would be a focal point for those who would wish to rebuild.

 

Where was home for him now?

 

And then he knew. He understood. The Force gathered around him guiding his fingers as he plotted his course.

 

 

 

“Uh, Wedge?”

 

The hesitant warning tones in Red Two’s voice broke through the storm within Antilles’ mind; they had done it! They had soundly beaten the Empire. The Emperor was believed dead, Darth Vader was believed dead, and his son….

 

_Luke…_

 

… was also thought to have died either during the battle or on the Death Star with his father.  And what should have been a fulfilling moment for him, was tinged with bitter grief. His friend was dead.

 

“What is it, Red Two,” he ignored the other pilot’s mistake of calling him by his first name; such things are forgiven during momentous occasions like this.

 

“I’ve pick up a small ship moving through sector three-nine. Looks like a Lambda Class Shuttle.”

 

Wedge felt the prickle of fear blow on the back of his neck. “Move to intercept,“ he ordered tightly. “Command? Admiral? We might have a problem here.”

 

“We see him, Commander,” Ackbar acknowledged. “Take him out.”

 

“Yes, sir.”  He laid in a pursuit course, hoping they could intercept the pilot before he made the jump to light speed. 

 

“Shit! That’s the Imperial crest!” Red Two blurted in agitation as they neared the shuttle. “That could be Palpatine!”

 

Wedge charged up his guns, drew the shuttle into his crosshairs and was about to shoot when the shuttle wangled its wings. He pulled his hands away from the trigger in surprise.

 

“What the hell?” Red Two exclaimed. “What’s he doing?”

 

Wedge drew nearer, brought his fighter alongside the shuttle which peeled away and looped around him in a manoeuvre, and with a grace, it was never built for.  He laughed with delight as the shuttle shook it wings once more.

 

“Let him go,” he announced, grinning.  There was no doubt about it. That pilot was Luke Skywalker and Wedge now had the chance to repay his friend for saving his life above Hasthaal.

 

“Wedge? What?”

 

“That’s not Palpatine,” he told the others. “That’s one of us.”

 

The Imperial Shuttle suddenly shot forward in a burst of speed and was lost to hyperspace.  Wedge saluted the empty cosmos before him while silently hoping his friend would, someday, find his way home. Then he turned his X-Wing and headed back to the waiting fleet.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~


	13. Shadow Aspect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No one noticed the small, dark cloaked figure step silently into an empty box. No one took notice as the pod unlatched from its moorings, quietly rose and crossed the chamber taking its occupant to the middle of the room directly across from the Chancellor. The figure did not move, nor did he speak. He merely waited, with his hands clasped before him and his head slightly bowed, for his presence to be felt.
> 
> Gradually the delegates noticed the waiting figure and silence slowly bled through the vast arena. Boxes dropped away to their jetties, leaving the figure alone. Even the camera’s backed away."
> 
>  
> 
> Luke Skywalker attempts to rebuild his life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the only chapter that was written after 1999 when The Phantom Menace was released.
> 
>  
> 
> All Previous copy right still disclaimers apply

**Epilogue**

 

** Shadow Aspect **

                                                                                   

The small figure ran through the canyon relishing the milder temperatures within its shaded walls. He ran, footsteps slapping on rock, his pace regular and unbroken, sweat soaking through his light tunic and pants and trickling from the saturated scarf he had tied around his head as protection from the twin suns of Tatooine. He ran, pushing himself on, pushing himself beyond normal human endurance, his mind focused on nothing else bar placing one foot in front of the other and passing the goal he had fixed for himself when he had set out at first sunlight.

 

He turned the final broad bend of the canyon; its floor opening up to the wider expanse of the desert beyond and the sounds of his footsteps changed rhythm and beat to the muffled thudding of compacted sand. He quickened his pace leaving the towering cliffs behind him as the suns rose higher casting a shimmering haze across the desert horizon. He savoured the pain of his exertion, the ache building within his leg muscles, the searing of his lungs as he drew in hot air with each breath. He glanced at the suns trying to judge the time of day and the light briefly blinded him…

 

_This is light. This pain._

 

…he stumbled at the sudden thought as it lanced through his empty mind. His foot caught on a loose stone and he fell to the ground, sprawling in the sand. He lay for a moment catching his breath before pushing himself up to sit.

 

“Dammit,” Luke Skywalker swore gently, dropping onto his back and throwing an arm across his face to shield it. “Dammit!”

 

He lay for moment, limbs trembling and cramping from their effort, lungs heaving for breath now that his body had stopped. He knew he had now lost his pace, lost the impetus of the run and he would be hard pressed to find it again for the final few kilometres to his home.

 

_Home._

 

He smiled at the thought. He had come home and he had found something akin to contentment here. And yet, there was something else. Something over the last few days that nibbled at the edge of his feelings and made him restless. Hence his running had taken on a new urgency and he strived to find new limits, new ways of working off his agitation; his feelings that his life was about to take another turn.

 

He sat up, folding his legs and pulled his water bottle from its pouch on his belt. He unscrewed the top and tipped the cool liquid into his mouth. He swallowed quickly, gulping it, suddenly realising how badly dehydrated he was. The water soothed his dry throat, revived his flagging strength. Another moment or two of rest and he would be ready for the last few kilometres.

 

He was on his feet; lightsabre pulled from his belt and ignited before the sound of the weapon’s retort reached him. The feeling of not being alone, of being in danger had abruptly risen within the Force and he deflected the projectile with a wave of his hand. It thumped into the sand a few metres away.  He faced the high cliffs behind him spotting the tall figure of a Tusken Raider holding aloft a rifle and barking out commands in its guttural language.  Five more Raiders spilled from the canyon heading across the sand toward him yapping and howling excitedly.

 

Luke stood his ground conserving his energy; letting them run to him, he brought his sabre up before him ready for their attack. There was another shot from above and Luke deflected it with the sword as the others closed in. He threw out a hand, gathered the Force around him and pushed three backward sending them tumbling over the ground. The other two swung their gaffi sticks aiming for his body and his head. He jumped, somersaulted over them, brought the sabre down as he landed and cleaved both weapons in two.

 

There were shrieks of anger from the Tuskens and they came at him again using the bladed ends of the shortened gaffis. The other three picked themselves up and came hurtling toward him; enraged.

 

Luke deflected more blows. He was loathed to kill them, did not relish having more blood on his hands. But he couldn’t wound them and leave them as their own would sacrifice them for their failure and weakness of not dying in battle. He had a stark choice; either kill them or die himself. He jumped over a low aimed blow and swung his lightsabre taking the legs from one warrior. It shrieked in agony as it fell wounded to the ground. Luke turned, sword slicing through the air decapitating another.  Something grabbed him from behind; thick swaddled arms holding him tightly around the upper body as another approached in front. Luke kicked out, knocking away the blade that was aimed at his chest, the movement unbalanced his captor and they fell together in a heap. He lost his grip on his lightsabre.

 

He wriggled loose, kicked at a reaching hand, called his sabre to his own hand, immediately igniting it as he found his feet. He swung around cutting down the Raider who had tried to spear him.  Trembling with fatigue, and panting hard in the hot sun he turned to face the final two. The blue blade hummed quietly in the still desert air.

 

There was a call from the Tusken on the cliff top; its cry echoing around the area and his two assailants hesitated. Luke took a bold stepped forward refusing to show how tired he was, daring them to come again. Another bark from the cliffs and the remaining Tusken’s started to back away slowly and once there was sufficient ground between them and Luke they turned and ran back toward the canyon entrance as the Tusken with the rifle disappeared from view.

 

Luke let out a gasp of relief, shoulder’s slumping. There was a moan behind him and he turned on his heels horrified that one of the Raiders was still alive. He approached the injured creature as it lay defenceless in the dirt and stabbed it directly in the heart ending its suffering. He switched the sabre off, hooked it back onto his belt and dropped to the sand.

 

“Dammit,” he whispered, gazing out at the desert before him and the road home.

 

*   *   *

 

Luke stripped naked as soon as he entered the room and padded across the floor to the shower cubical. He stepped in, turned on the spray and let the water wash the sweat, sand and death from his body. He grabbed the soap and lathered quickly, aware of the need for speed so he didn’t use up too much of his precious water supply. It had taken him many frustrating hours and cannibalised parts from the Emperor’s shuttle to repair the nearest vaporator to farm. He’d had to patch the underground pipes leading to the collection tank for the living quarters and barter for a new filter in Anchorhead.  That trip into town had been his first since returning to Tatooine and as he had stepped into Fixer’s shop with more shuttle parts he had been assaulted by memories from his youth, by feelings of innocence and happiness. They had made him smile, they had caused a depth of sadness and regret to pool within and he’d had to fight to control his emotions, had struggled to find his voice to manipulate the mind and memories of the man who served him.

 

Fixer would never know that the man he had haggled with was Luke Skywalker; the boy he had last addressed with derision and contempt.

 

Luke shut the shower valve off and let the water drip from his body listening to it trickle down the drain to the water purifier below where it would be recycled. He smiled, in an hour he would be drinking it. He stepped from the shower and grabbed a towel. He had returned to Anchorhead several times since that first for clothes, provisions and other essential items. No one had yet recognised him, though many of the faces had been familiar to him. He had been aware of some curious glances as he walked the single street, had planted indifference into several minds and now, months later, he was just another settler who periodically came to town to stock up; he no longer needed to use the Force to cloud their minds.

 

And, not for the first time, he wondered if Kenobi had used the same tricks when he had first settled in the region.

 

He towel dried his hair and grabbed a clean pair of beige pants and a white shirt from the pallet that served as his bed and dressed. He moved through the house to the kitchen. It was not quite as clean, or as well stocked as it had been when his guardians had been alive but it served his purposes. He quickly made himself a snack from two thick slices of a loaf he’d bought from Deak’s mother’s bakery and spread copious amounts of roasted herrial-nut butter over the bread. He pressed the slices together until the butter oozed from the edges and he sauntered from the kitchen into the courtyard while licking it from the crusts.

 

He sat on the stairs as he took his first bite and looked around his home, relishing the quiet of the place, the peace, the calm after the fight with the Tuskens.   He had never thought he would return here, never thought he would ever set foot on this dusty world of his youth, considered it left behind with the childhood which had been shattered all too abruptly and violently with the death of his guardians and his flight with Kenobi. Now he cherished the place for it gave him the solitude and stillness he needed to examine his life since leaving; it gave him the time and space he required to contemplate events, to hone his abilities with the Force. It gave him the warmth and the light that had been missing for so long and there were times that he had just stood and allowed the sunlight to surround him, allowed himself to bath in its brilliance, feeling it drive the darkness from him…

 

“It cannot be done.”

 

Luke started at the sudden voice and he hesitated in mid-chew as he looked around the atrium of the farm and glanced up at the high walls around him. He was alone. The voice had sounded like… he frowned. It had sounded like Yoda. But his old master was dead. He had felt his passing some months before. What had the voice meant? Was it his own mind telling him that darkness…?

 

“Forever will it dominate your destiny. Part of you, it is.”

 

Luke stood then, jumped down the few steps to the sandy floor and turned on his heels to find Yoda standing where he had been sitting seconds before. The small Jedi Master was translucent just as Kenobi had been when he had appeared to him and Luke couldn’t stop the surge of anger that swept through him; he didn’t want to stop it.

 

“Now you come to me?” He snarled contemptuously, throwing away the remains of his sandwich. “After leaving me alone for so long?”

 

“Luke…”

 

“No!” Luke cried, cutting the small Jedi off, his emotions suddenly overwhelming him. He had suppressed them, had thought them beaten and controlled until now, and he allowed them free reign. Allowed his anguish to speak for him.  “I called to you! I called to Ben. I needed your help… and you never answered.” He sneered this last, his feelings of betrayal all too obvious in his words.

 

“Choice you made, hmmm?”

 

“Choice?” The word stuck in his throat, a throat still scarred and hoarse, still sounding like Sohn Vader. The word flamed his anger and resentment beat eagerly within. “I didn’t have the information I needed to make a choice. You let me leave without knowing what I truly needed.”

 

_“You are my son.”_

 

Yoda’s mouth turned down, the tips of his ears doing likewise and he frowned. “If you had stayed, told you we would have.” His voice was soft, gently chiding.

 

“If I had stayed…” Luke retorted, eyes flashing. Then he stopped. He had been about to say that Han and Leia would have been killed if he had stayed on Dagobah, but that wasn’t true. They had managed to save themselves without him. His flight to save them had been in vain and it had cost him dearly. His anger diminished and he couldn’t look Yoda in the eye, instead he dropped to the sand to sit at the Jedi Master’s feet.

 

Yoda finished his sentence for him. “You would have been prepared. Ready to face Vader and his Emperor.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the sand. At the same time wondering why he was the one apologising and for what. For leaving Dagobah? For trying to do what he felt was right instead of listening to his masters? For turning to the dark when there was no light left to guide him? What had they really expected of him - to sit in the mud and let Han and Leia suffer? They were they ones who had withheld the truth, who had bent it to suit their own ends, and ignored his needs.  And the spectre of anger lingered within him.

 

Yoda smiled. “Survived you have. Held onto the light even when darkness clouded you. Felt it I did.”

 

“I killed in anger, in hatred…” he shook his head. Remembering the appalling rage that had gripped him. Remembering the pilots he had shot down, the soldiers he had cut down simply because they were in his way. “I became the agent of evil you said I would.”

 

“Many have killed in anger, Luke,” Obi-Wan Kenobi’s voice gently told him as the elder man appeared beside him. “Myself included. Your intentions were just, even if your actions were not.”

 

Luke stilled the spike of bitterness that rose at the image of his mentor; if he had been told the truth from the start none of this would have happened.  “Leia,” he said quietly. “I had to save Leia. “ He looked distant recalling his feelings, recalling his terror for the Princess and his rage and hatred for Vader.  “But it wasn’t me who saved her. It was…”

 

“Your father,” Kenobi offered when Luke’s voice faltered.

 

“You made me hate him,” Luke’s voice was cold, distant. “You made me think he had murdered my father. You allowed me to vow to become a Jedi even when that decision was based on grief and anger after my aunt and uncle’s death.  I wanted to become a Jedi because I wanted revenge on the one man I blamed for it all. Vader - and all the while he _was_ my father.”  He pushed himself up from the ground and looked Kenobi in the eye, his fury at the half truths and lies he had been told rippling through the Force. But he controlled his feelings, stood strong. “You should have told me. You should have prepared me from the beginning…”

 

“Luke, I…”

 

“None of this would have happened. I would have known. I would have been ready and they couldn’t have used it against me…”

 

_“See how he cowers, My Lord? See how weak and frightened he is. His father would be ashamed to call him son.”_

_Father. That word sliced through his pain, penetrated the drug filled haze around him and gifted him a terrible clarity. He glanced up at the withered creature that taunted him. His father? Palpatine had… “You knew him?”_

_“He dares speak to me? He dares to ask me questions?”_

_He was beaten down, then dragged back up to his knees. He choked on the blood that filled his mouth. “Please….”_

_“You’re father was strong, bold. And so powerful that his presence shone within the Force.  And when he bowed to me….”_

_“Liar!” His voice was torn by fury, ripped from his ruined throat.  “My father would never…” Again the fists and the feet of his guards. Again he was lifted to the position of supplication._

_“You think not? Then you do not know?  They have not told you whose son you are?” The despot smiled reached out his hand and stroked Luke’s bruised and bloodied cheek. “My poor poor child.” Then he turned away addressing the watching Dark Lord.” Tell him.”_

_And Darth Vader filled his vision, invaded his feelings and thoughts and forced the truth upon him._

_“You are my son.”_

 

Luke closed his eyes tight against the memory, against the pain that threatened to engulf him once more.  And more images assaulted him; lightsabres clashing in the darkness.

_“Father! What do I do now?”_

_“You…live…”_

“Forgive yourself you must for Anakin’s death,” Yoda told him as he sat down on the steps and rested his head on his hands as he studied his young apprentice. “He too made his choices.”

 

“It’s… difficult,” Luke confessed, remembering the moment his lightsabre had sliced through Vader’s chest plate. His hands shook and he had to grip them tightly to stop the tremors as he fought to still his heaving emotions. The Force gathered deeper around him.

 

“Anakin has found his peace, Luke. He died in the embrace of the light,“ Kenobi reassured him, softly. “In your own ways you each saved the other. Dwelling on the past will not help you move on. Luke, this place has served its purpose and isolating yourself further, berating yourself for what happened is only prolonging the inevitable.”

 

Luke looked sharply at Kenobi, fear suddenly clogging the back of his throat. He cleared it. “What do you mean?”

 

“Jedi Knight you are,” Yoda announced with some certainty. “Proven it today, you have.”

 

“I killed those Tuskens,” Luke told them, confused. How could he be a Jedi Knight after all of the deaths he had caused?

 

“Yes,” Kenobi conceded. “In defence and without anger or hatred, and with an understanding of their culture.”

 

“That didn’t make it right,” Luke snapped back.

 

“There was no right, Luke. They would have killed you if you had not acted.”

 

“Return to your friends, you must. To your sister. Much still to be done,” Yoda continued. “Needed you are.”

 

“But there is so much more I don’t know…” Luke started, suddenly he was unsure, insecure.

 

“Find it here you will not,” Yoda admonished him firmly, his lips pursing in mild irritation.

 

“Leia needs you, Luke, as do many others.  The Galaxy needs the service of the Jedi once more.” Kenobi added.

 

“Last of the Jedi you are. Rest in your hands our future does.”

 

Luke stepped back from them, turned his back to them; feeling the pressure of their words compressing within. It was too much to ask of him. He couldn’t do what they wanted. He couldn’t go back. He was…

 

“Afraid are you.” Yoda stated.

 

“Yes,” Luke whispered, keeping his back to them, trying to still the panic that beat within. Trying to calm the heat of anger he could feel growing at their demands on him. He closed his eyes and drew in a breath of warm Tatooine air.  Yes, he was afraid. Afraid he would fail once more. Afraid to leave the quiet solace of this place. Afraid that someone would recognise him as Vader’s son. Afraid to face those he had betrayed by accepting the mantle of darkness.

 

“You will not be alone, Luke. We will always be with you,” Kenobi assured him, feeling Luke’s conflicting emotions; his anger, his fear, his animosity toward his tutors. All tinged with a desire to see his friends and his sister and relief that he would no longer be alone. “As will the Force.”

 

 _And that’s supposed to reassure me?_   Luke clamped down the sarcastic thought, such feelings would do him no good now. “What do I do?”

 

“Let them come,” Yoda told him, simply. “And the Force will guide you.”

 

Them.

 

_Leia?_

_Luke!_

 

There was a moment of silence and Luke gazed up at the blue of the Tatooine sky, smiling. He would be loathed to leave this place, this sanctuary. But what Obi-Wan and Yoda were saying was true. He could not remain here, he could not deny the call of his destiny; just as he couldn’t deny it on Dagobah. When they came for him he would leave. He would rebuild the Jedi Order, but he would do so on his own terms. He would teach them the lessons he had learned from _all_ of his teachers. And he would teach them the lessons he had taught himself. He would teach them to harness the light and the dark within, and warn his students of the dangers of them both. He would mark his own path and not be manipulated to suit the desires of others.

 

His decision made, he turned back to the Jedi. “I’m ready,” he announced.

 

*   *   *

 

Leia Organa opened her eyes to the dusky light that filled the cabin, initially wondering where she was. She stared at the pristine ceiling, listened to the throbbing of a hyperdrive engine in mild confusion. Then she remembered where she was and smiled sadly. This was Han’s ship; his new ship, and not for the first time she found herself mourning the Millennium Falcon. She missed the Falcon’s idiosyncrasies, her foibles, her unique charms and abilities to pull them out of trouble. She missed the familiar rumble of engines, the worn and scarred appearance of the ship’s exterior that had deceived many; including herself.

 

Leia sighed and turned onto her side, pulling the thin blanket with her. There were several things about the Falcon she didn’t miss; she didn’t miss the cramped crew quarters and narrow bunks. She didn’t miss the stench of lubrications, or the dirt that clung to the bulkheads. She didn’t miss the…

 

_Leia?_

The Princess sat up with a start and swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. She reached her hand out as though trying to touch the person who had murmured her name even though she knew he was not there. A warm presence lightly brushed her feelings and she felt elation tinged with agitation and… a lingering trace of uncertainty. She smiled, closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could…

 

_Luke!_

 

A hot breath of air seemed to caress her mind and she thought she smelled freshly baked bread and roasted nuts. The image of a twin sunset played behind her eyes; a desert sky afire with reds and golds and shadows darkening on high dunes.

 

Tatooine.

 

He reluctantly withdrew from her leaving her with a sense of wonder, of agitation and delight. She had been right! They had found her brother, and he was in the most obvious of places.

 

She stood and pulled on some pants and a light, airy shirt more suited to Tatooine’s heat than the interior of a star ship and quickly made her way through the ship. The vessel was Corellian built like the Millennium Falcon, was still a freighter, but she was larger and more modern. She had been a gift to Han from a grateful Alliance, compensation for the loss of his beloved Falcon. Han had been embarrassed, uncomfortable telling Leia he had achieved nothing on Endor apart from getting them all caught. However, he had accepted the ship. But, it was not the Millennium Falcon and never would be. And she knew that Han still felt the Falcon’s loss, still grieved for his friend who had been piloting her when she had burst in a brief conflagration during the battle of Endor.

 

As he had grieved for Luke.

 

The door to the cockpit slid open and Leia stepped through and into the middle of an argument.

 

“No, Chewie!” Han snapped, ignoring the roar that came from the Wookiee in response. “We’re not going to take the engines apart again. I don’t care if you can get another point three out of them, we’re on Tatooine to find Luke – if he’s there – not to work on the…”

 

The Wookiee grunted and barked an explanation.

 

“I know there’s a dealership in Mos Espa, but that’s not the direction…”

 

Another series of woofs.

 

Han smiled at Chewbacca’s persistence. “We’re not making a detour – not this time, Chewie. ‘Sides we can get the parts cheaper on Ord Mantell.” He looked over his shoulder and threw Leia an exasperated grin. “Hi, Sweetheart. We’re almost there, just another few minutes.”

 

Leia glanced out of the cockpit window, to the churning of hyperspace. “I know,” she told him quietly as she placed a hand on his shoulder. “He knows we’re coming.”

 

Han grimaced at her words. He still wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to Leia being Jedi, to her being Luke’s sister; to her being Darth Vader’s daughter. He was torn by her insistence that they make this trip. On one level he wanted to see the kid as much as Leia, wanted to see that he was all right and in one piece. The image of him standing below the Falcon as they said their goodbyes on Hoth was still so strong, so vivid and that was the Luke he sought. But he was concerned, too. Concerned that the Luke they found would be the small dark figure they had watched dip his knee to the Dark Lord of the Sith on the Imperial broadcast the Empire had used to announced Sohn Vader’s existence to the galaxy.

 

There was a third Luke. There was the tortured boy Leia had found on Endor, the emotionally and mentally unstable youth who could barely contain the power he possessed. However, Leia appeared confident that her brother had healed, that Luke had faced his demons and defeated them

 

Han wasn’t so sure. Leia hadn’t been with the squads that stormed the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, or been with the team that had found the Emperor’s private prison, she hadn’t seen where they had kept Luke or what they had done to him. He had, and the images and sounds haunted him – just as they must still haunt Luke.

 

The stars beyond streaked back to pinpoints as the ship dropped from hyperspace and he heard Leia gasp an intake of breath. Her hand tightened on his shoulder.

 

“’You okay, Leia?” he asked, watching Tatooine grow and fill their view feeling the ship make her descent. She was no Falcon, but she had potential - Chewie was right about that.

 

“I can feel him from here, Han,” she sounded amazed, and a little scared. “He’s so strong.”

 

Han threw her and uneasy glance as they entered Tatooine’s atmosphere, skimmed through the scant clouds.

 

“There!” Leia pointed, craning her neck to see out the cockpit window, using visuals rather than instrumentation. “That’s Anchorhead. The farm is… There, that’s it.”

 

There was a single dome, a sunken crater and a pile of scrap to the side. A small figure, dressed in beige and white stood a little distance from the farm’s entrance, with one hand shielding his eyes as he watched the freighter descend.

 

Han settled the ship down and Chewie shut down the systems. There was a moment of silence as each of them stared out at the waiting man.

 

“Okay,” Han breathed as he drew a hand through his hair. “Let’s see who we’ve got here.”

 

*   *   *

 

Luke watched the strange freighter drop her landing struts and shifted his feet nervously in the sand. He resisted the temptation to reach out with the Force and touch the minds and emotions of his friends – his family. They needed to meet again on an equal footing and he had no wish to alienate them before they had even left the ship. He anxiously wiped sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand and drew in a steadying breath, trying to calm his racing heart. It felt like years instead of mere months since he had last seen Leia, since he had relinquished her to their father’s care upon the Death Star. It felt like a lifetime since he had last seen Han and the others, since he had stood below the Falcon on Hoth and allowed silence to say more than words ever could.

 

And he wondered now if that understanding would still be between them or if they would have to start their friendship anew; rebuild the trust and the brotherhood they once shared. The thought saddened him, pained him.

 

The ramp began to lower, and he watched it settle in the sand. He kept his eyes low watching small boots start down the incline almost too afraid to look up and see his sister’s face; too afraid he would see the confusion and fear of him in her eyes as he had seen on Endor.

 

More boot steps, the whine of droid servomotors, and the low inquiring purr of a Wookiee.

 

“Luke?”

 

Leia’s soft questioning tones bade him look up. He lifted his head, and hesitantly fixed his eyes on the Princess. He saw concern, he saw a tentative smile. But it was her inner emotions that swamped him, caused him to stifle a gasp. The Force raged within him as feelings he had not felt for a long time flooded through him; Leia’s feelings, his own feelings. They restricted his breathing, they caused his muscles to tremble and he was afraid he would fall to sand. After everything that had happened, after everything he had done; she bore no grudges, held no contempt. She felt no forgiveness for she did not believe he had done anything that required forgiveness. He was Luke. He was her brother, and she loved him.

 

He didn’t know how it had happened, who had moved first, but he found himself being supported by a petite body. Her arms encircled his waist and held him tight. His head rested upon her shoulder, his own arms firmly clasping her.

 

“Leia…” he whispered, roughly. “I…”

 

“Shhh, Luke,” she soothed, feeling his body shiver; feeling his ragged emotions. His relief and shame. His uncertainty and his almost childish sense of wonder and happiness. His unabashed joy at their presence. He had been so alone for so long. So lost and surrounded with darkness he had almost forgotten what the light was like.

 

_Light is pain…_

 

The Princess frowned at the random thought that had crossed the fringe of her mind, it had sounded like a whisper of her brother’s voice. She stepped slightly back, stared up at him, her hand reaching to touch his chin as she had months before when it was the only visible part of his face; the rest hidden under a mask and helmet like their father’s. This time he did not flinch, he did not draw away.

 

“We’ve missed you,” she smiled, repeating words she had used on Endor when Sohn Vader had stood before her.

 

Luke remembered that encounter, remembered his confused and twisted thinking and how the Dark Side had grasped him and manipulated him. He had denied her words then and denied his own identity. This time, however there was no such denial. He returned her smile. “And I you, sister.”

 

Someone very loudly cleared their throat and the twins turned as one to find Han Solo watching them closely with interest and with a faint sense of impatience. The Corellian had stood quietly with Chewbacca and the droids and silently watched the reunion. He had been surprised to see that, apart from a few subtleties, Luke had changed very little. His hair was again sun-bleached blond from living on Tatooine, there were tiny tired threads lining his face around his blue eyes. There was nothing in the nervous young man before him that reminded Han of the image of the son of Darth Vader. It would seem that Leia was right; Luke was…well – Luke.

 

“How ya doin’, Kid?” And as soon as Han asked he saw a shadow pass briefly over Luke’s face, and he was forced to reconsider his earlier assessment. Something about him had unsettled the younger man.

 

And then the shadow was gone and Luke grinned, disarmingly. He crossed the space between them and they quickly embraced; each glad to see the other, but each a little wary.

 

Luke stepped back, glanced up. “I’m just…” He was grabbed from behind by strong hairy arms and hugged tightly as Chewbacca bayed loudly. “Chewie… I…ung… You…”

 

“Master Luke!” See Threepio shrilled loudly as Artoo Detoo rolled around excitedly. “It’s so good to see you again, sir.”

 

Luke extracted himself from Chewbacca’s grasp and patted the Wookiee’s arm gratefully. “Thanks, Chewie. You’re looking good, too.” He glanced at the droids. “And you two,” he said with some affection.

 

He turned to his guests as a group, suddenly remembering the distance they had travelled and his manners as a host. “Come on in,” he welcomed. “And we can talk more.”

 

Leia linked her arms through his as they descended into the farmstead followed by Chewbacca, the droids and Han, who was looking all around him in interest at Luke’s childhood home and place of refuge.

 

*   *   *

 

Han climbed from the dome and glanced around. It was getting dark very quickly and Luke had disappeared twenty minutes before saying he was going to pack his stuff. When he hadn’t returned Han had taken it upon himself to seek out the younger man. The day had gone well, better than Han could have hoped. They had eaten a simple meal that Luke had prepared while they had filled each other in on what they had been doing since Endor. Their laughter at some of Han’s more outlandish tales was good, cleansing. And the previous months of separation had seemed to fade and disappear until Leia had asked Luke to tell them what he had been doing.

 

Luke’s story had been short.

 

_“I’ve been here,” he shrugged._

 

_“Doing what?” Leia asked gently._

_Luke gestured to the surrounds outside of the small dining area. “Rebuilding. Trying to put things back where they were.”_

_Han sat forward, wondering about Luke’s words. He had a feeling Skywalker didn’t just mean the homestead. “Have you succeeded?”_

_Luke seemed to stare at him with the strangest of smiles tingeing his lips. “I’ve found some things can’t be fixed.” And the smile vanished with the sorrow filled words and he dropped his eyes to gaze at the tabletop._

_For the first time since they arrived there was an awkward silence, and Han glanced to Leia hoping she would fill the glaring gap in the conversation._

_“What are your plans now, Luke?” Leia questioned as quickly and as casually as she could. A squall of desolate emotion seemed to flurry briefly in the blue eyes that flickered upward and met her own. Then they cleared as an ocean does after a storm and Leia could sense nothing from Luke bar his enjoyment of their company and a slight restless, an eager agitation.  “You’re not going to stay here, are you?” It was more of a statement than a question._

_Staying on the Farm, and living the simple life he had enjoyed for the last few months remained appealing. But it was not his destiny.  “No, I’m leaving with you. I have some things I need to do…” he hesitated, looked down at his intertwined fingers. “I’ll need your help, though.” He said quietly, hopefully._

_“We’ll do what we can,” Leia reassured him reaching across the table to cover his hands with her own. “We’ll have to think of something to smooth your return to the Alliance Forces,” she paused, watching Luke for a reaction, trying to pick her words as carefully as she could; something she had never needed to do with Luke before. “Everyone thinks you’re dead, and… we can’t have too many awkward questions asked about where you’ve been.”_

_“I’m not going back to the Alliance, Leia,” Luke told her firmly, feeling her unease, feeling her reluctance to even hint at what he had become while with Vader and his Emperor. “That life is over for me now, but if I still need to resign my commission I will.”_

_“What are you going to do?” Han asked, seeing Luke’s determination._

_“I am a Jedi Knight,” he declared with confidence, and Leia felt a warm flush flow through the Force from her brother and again she was astounded at his strength of power, the energy that surged through his slim frame; a power he could command with a single thought. “I’m going to rebuild the Order.”_

 

Han shivered as a cooling breeze tugged at his hair and clothing; with the suns sinking on the horizon the temperatures had started to drop and he didn’t relishing being outside for too long. His gaze swept the homestead and he was just about to call his friend’s name when he spotted Luke underneath the ship trailing his fingers along the smooth hull. He stopped and watched as Luke appraised the vessel. Skywalker looked intrigued excited by the prospect of flying in her or of actually getting a chance to pilot her himself. He looked…

 

 Han frowned deeply, Luke looked young, vulnerable. He looked like the kid he’d met in Mos Eisley, the kid who’d had his whole life ahead of him and he was suddenly struck with a deep sense of sorrow and remorse for the path his friend’s destiny had taken and for the intimate horrors he had witnessed Luke suffer.

 

He shook himself from his thoughts, thrust his hands into his pants pockets and sauntered over to the ship.

 

Luke had sensed Han as soon as the Corellian stepped from the dome, he could feel his friend’s curiosity, not just about what Luke thought of his new ship, but also about Luke himself. Han burned with the questions he wanted to ask but he’d held back out of respect for Leia, held back because…

 

_… a glaring bank of solid light. Heaving, gasping breathing, cries of anguish in an enclosed space…_

 

Luke winced at the sudden images and pushed them quickly away. He had no time or desire to consider these memories. They had nothing to do with Han, nothing to do with the here and now… And yet the smuggler seemed a little unsettled.

 

“So what do you think of her, kid?” Han asked at his back.

 

Luke smiled at the sound of the nickname, at the memories of friendship it hinted at. He reached up and touched the hull once more. “She’s a good ship.”

 

Han couldn’t catch himself in time, couldn’t stop the sudden swell of resentment that abruptly rose within. “So was the Falcon,” he stated, pointedly.

 

 Luke stiffened, his back straightened and this reaction alone gave Han an answer to one of his questions, that and the stricken look on Luke’s face as the younger man turned to face him. “Han… I…”

 

Gripped with abrupt rage, Solo grabbed Luke by the collar and almost lifted him off his feet as he shoved his friend against the ship’s lifters.  “Did you know I wasn’t on board?” he snarled. “Did you take time to consider what you were doing, or didn’t it matter?” Han knew his words were cruel, biting. But he’d suspected Luke was involved with the Falcon’s demise after Wedge Antilles’ scant and uneasy account of what had happened and now he knew the truth his anger needed vented.

 

 “Was she just another enemy ship? Another target and to hell with who was on board?  That you… _You_ , Luke!” He glared at his friend, saw the slump of Luke’s shoulders, saw the grief and the guilt and something else, something indefinable, cross Luke’s features, something that stopped his tirade, stilled his anger and his bitter words. He’d seen that look on Luke’s face only once before, and that had been on the prison recording as the droid moved in on Vader’s orders. He released his hold, backed away a few steps, his gaze never leaving Luke’s and he asked his final question.

 

 “Why?” he asked quietly. “Just tell me that. Why the Falcon?”

 

Luke sank to the ground and rested his back against the lifter. “Leia,” he whispered.

 

“What?”

 

Luke trawled a hand through his hair. “I had to get to Leia. I…” he struggled to find the words to explain his actions. “I saw what would happen, what I thought would happen, if Vader took her to the Emperor and the Falcon was there… between me and Leia. I’m sorry.”

 

“Shit, Luke,” Han crossed the space between them and dropped to the sand beside Luke. “You didn’t know Vader was releasing her?”

 

“No, that was blocked from me,” Luke’s voice was heavy, sorrowful. “Palpatine enjoyed playing mind games with me, enjoyed pushing me to the edge. This time he almost pushed me over it.”

 

Han stared silently ahead listening as Luke spoke recalling his friend, Lando Calrissian, recalling their last moments together as Lando promised not to scratch his ship, recalling his own chilled moment as he had gazed longingly at the Falcon from the cockpit of the Tydirium and he felt again the moment when he had been told of Lando’s death and the Falcon’s destruction. It had seemed such a senseless loss, to die in the midst of the battle, to be just one of a number. It had not seemed like the death Lando would have wished for himself. Neither Calrissian, nor the Falcon, had gone in a blaze of glory that would have been remembered and recorded for history. They had died before they could achieve anything.

 

Meaningless. Until now.

 

Lando had died for Leia and, somehow, that comforted the Corellian, gave him a sense of peace, an understanding that even one as self-centred as Calrissian could have accepted such a sacrifice. And Leia was worth more than the Falcon. Luke was worth more than the Falcon.

 

Still, he would miss her.

 

“She was a good ship, Luke,” Han told him quietly, “and good people on board her.”

 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough,” the Jedi murmured, thickly.

 

“It’s okay, Luke,” Han reassured him, dismayed that Luke didn’t consider himself strong. “It was a battle, they were pilots and soldiers and knew the risks. I don’t hold you responsible.” He was thinking of that prison again, of what he had seen Luke suffer and of the tenacity he had seen in Luke’s resistance, and of how Palpatine had ground it down.

 

Luke frowned at the words and the tone with which they were said. There should be relief at Han’s absolution of his actions, there should be some release for him now that Han had understood his desire to reach Leia on the Death Star, but instead his stomach tightened with tension and he swallowed nervously before asking, “What do you mean?”

 

_…bloodied wrists tied tight to a bland wall. Choking sobs tearing through a ruined throat…_

 

Luke blanched at the images that tore into his mind. He wasn’t remembering what had happened, he was seeing himself as another had seen him - as Han had seen him. He made to move, tried to push himself away from the Corellian but Han’s hand caught him, held him back.

 

“Luke?”

 

He stared across the darkening dessert, feeling the Force building and swelling; his resentment, his agony and fear causing cold desolation to fill him. “You saw,” he forced out. “You saw what they… did.”

 

“Dammit,” Solo softly swore, cursing the abilities Luke and Leia both possessed. “Stay out of my head, Luke.”

 

“I can’t help it, Han, you’re so open…” Luke’s rough whisper was tight, filled with bitter anguish. He drew his knees up, wrapped his arms around them.

 

“I’m sorry, Luke,” he said, wondering what he was sorry for. For being too open? For seeing what had happened on Coruscant? For what Luke had endured at the command of the Emperor and his own father? “I’m sorry for what you went through…”

 

_…naked skin crisping under intense heat and light…_

_…this is light. This is pain…_

_…hoarse screaming… dark blood slowly dripping…_

“I understand why you gave into them.”

 

Han’s words breached the tight cocoon of emotions and memories that were threatening to overwhelm him and helped clear his mind. Luke tossed the mental pictures away, determined not to let them affect him, determined to keep them in the past where they belonged. He was a Jedi now, above such wallowing self-pity. He took a deep breath, forcing himself calm. “I never gave in, Han,” he corrected with a slight smile of self-assurance. “I nearly lost my way – but I never gave in.”

 

The shadows had grown longer, and it was dark under the ship now. Han shivered. “So what did you do?” He didn’t know why he asked, perhaps to understand the image of Sohn Vader bowing to the Sith Lord.

 

Luke sighed, quietly. “I kneeled to the Emperor and called him ‘master.’ And then I learned all they could teach me. I trained hard and rarely gave them an opportunity to doubt me, and…” His voice stuck in his throat, and he quickly cleared it. “… and when they permitted me to have private thoughts and feelings… I thought of Leia, of you… I never gave in. I marked my own path…” his words trailed off as he realised he was doing the very thing he had vowed not too and as another distressing thought occurred to him.  “Does Leia know? Did Leia see?”

 

Han didn’t need the Force to know Luke’s thoughts and feelings. He could feel the tension in his friend’s body beside him, could hear the grief and horror at the thought that others may have seen his humiliation. “No,” he reassured the Jedi. “No one else saw, Luke. And no one else will. I saw to it.”

 

He’d had the damned place destroyed and the recordings along with it.

 

Luke nodded in the darkness. “Thank you.”

 

“Any time, kid.” Han reached out, placed an arm around Luke’s thin shoulders and drew him closer lending what succour and support he could through such a simple gesture. He smiled as he felt Luke relax beside him, as the tension between them seemed to slowly trickle away. He stared out at the darkness that surrounded them, felt the cool chill of the Tatooine night settle about them and smiled at the warm, glowing light still coming from the homestead where Leia was; she had been the light that had banished the shadows for them both.

 

*   *   *

 

Despite being almost half-empty, the Senate Chamber on Coruscant was in an uproar. Senate boxes rose and fell in the auditorium as various representatives jockeyed for position and a chance to speak. There were cries of outrage, calls for votes, grunts, growls and several obscene gestures from the delegates. Seated in the central podium next to the Princess Leia of Alderaan, Mon Mothma, the newly elected Chancellor of the New Republic desperately called for order as holonet camera’s broadcast the chaos to a watching Galaxy.

 

No one noticed the small, dark cloaked figure step silently into an empty box. No one took notice as the pod unlatched from its moorings, quietly rose and crossed the chamber taking its occupant to the middle of the room directly across from the Chancellor. The figure did not move, nor did he speak. He merely waited, with his hands clasped before him and his head slightly bowed, for his presence to be felt.

 

Gradually the delegates noticed the waiting figure and silence slowly bled through the vast arena. Boxes dropped away to their jetties, leaving the figure alone. Even the camera’s backed away.

 

More than a little unsettled by this turn of events, but relieved nonetheless at the quiet of the chamber Mon Mothma slowly rose to her feet. She nervously cleared her throat and glanced at Leia, surprised to find the princess smiling. She drew herself up and turned to the stranger. “If you wish to address the assembly you will have to identify yourself.”

 

“Forgive me, Madam Chancellor,” it was merely a hoarse whisper but the voice resonated through the chamber. Tanned hands reached up and lifted the cowl away revealing a mop of blond hair that framed a young face, and a pair of startling blue eyes that seemed to freeze her to the spot. Mon Mothma wasn’t the only one to draw in a breath of recognition.

 

“I am Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight.”

 

Luke merely smiled as the cacophony of noise erupted once more. He closed his eyes allowing the Force to flow through him, to calm him, to prepare him for the coming storm. He felt Leia’s gentle presence supporting him and he opened his eyes. A holonet camera swung close, its strobe light flickering sharply across his face. He winced, blinked trying to clear the spots of shadows that danced before his eyes.

 

_This is light. This is pain…_

 

 

 

End…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the fan fic that I have written over the years Penumbra is my personal favourite. I hope that you have enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Treena


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